


Once Upon a December

by CCNilesBabcock



Category: The Nanny
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2019-09-20 10:02:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 97,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17020581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CCNilesBabcock/pseuds/CCNilesBabcock
Summary: After growing up in an orphanage, Grand Duchess Chastity-Claire Stewarevna Romanova emerges as a young woman called Claire. With no clear memory of her youth and unaware of who she is, Claire encounters two con artists, Niles Brightmorovich and Fran Fineova, who seek a C.C. look-alike in hopes of collecting a reward from the aged Dowager Empress. Based on the movie Anastasia (1997).Co-Written w/ TheCrownedLioness





	1. Chapter 1

**_ Chapter 1 _ **

 

_Imperial Russia_

_March 1917_

 

It was the latest the princess had ever remembered staying up. Her mother had protested, but her father had insisted. He’d said it was a celebration, so the entire family should be allowed to take part.

It wasn’t every day that the Russian Imperial family got to mark their tricentennial, after all!

That was what her Papa had said – a full week of celebration, and a ball where she got to wear a new party dress that her mother had eventually ordered after rolling her eyes at Tsar Stewart’s suggestion that C.C. stay up past her bedtime.

The dress that she was wearing right then, as she balanced on her father’s shoes to dance with him in a slow circle.

He held her hands securely, and his smile was bright.

“Having fun, Kotyonok?”

“Yes, Papa!” she replied excitedly, letting her father lift her up in the air and spin her around.

Stewart was a busy man, but he always made time for the family. He was a good husband and an exceptional family man, and although he wouldn’t admit it openly, his youngest daughter, Grand Duchess C.C., was the apple of his eye. Everyone thought that was Tsarevich Noel, but there was no rival for C.C. in her father’s affections.

He loved Noel, not to get him wrong, but he was his son. The future emperor of Russia. He had to be stern and strict with him, help shape his character so he would someday make a just and skilled monarch.

His little girl, on the other hand…

Well, she could be (and certainly was) spoiled rotten.

“I am glad, Kotyonok,” said the emperor. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his mother, sat on her throne, gazing at them from a distance.

Just like with Stewart, C.C. was her grandmother’s most beloved grandchild. They just were so alike! And she was also a vivacious and kind child. A bit mischievous too, yes, but overall she was a good little girl.

Stewart smirked at his mother – he knew she was leaving for Paris in a few days, and she had a gift for his girl.

“Look over there, Kotyonok,” said Stewart, “Someone’s looking for you!”

C.C. looked eagerly, spotting her grandmother waiting almost straight away. The minute she did, she grinned at her father, bouncing up and down on his feet.

“Grandmama!”

Stewart stroked her hair with one hand, “That’s right, Kotyonok...! Why don’t you go over and see her?”

At his suggestion, she climbed down eagerly from his shoes and sprinted in her grandmother’s direction, dodging butlers carrying drinks and the scolding voice of her mother telling her not to run all the way.

“Grandmama!” she cried out again.

Her grandmother’s bright, shining blue eyes greeted her first, followed immediately after by a beaming smile.

“Hello there, my little one!” she reached out her arms towards her. “Have you come to see your dear old grandmama?”

“Yes...” C.C. rushed into her grandmother’s arms and lifted herself into her grandmother’s lap so the elder woman brought her in close for a cuddle.

“Oh, you’re getting so big!” she exclaimed playfully. “Soon _I_ ’ll have to sit on _your_ lap!”

C.C. giggled, delighting in her grandmother’s antics. She’d always had fun with her...

She was going to miss her, when she went away to Paris. She didn’t know why she had to go, but was holding onto her father’s promise that they’d all still see each other.

Though it would be better if she didn’t have to go at all.

“You know,” her grandmother said. “I have just the thing for a girl as big as you...”

She reached behind her, onto a little table she’d had a serving boy place there, and brought back a little wooden box.

“Here we are, darling,” she said with a smile. “A gift, from my heart to yours.”

C.C. gasped at the beautifully handcrafted piece that had so kindly been given to her. She stroked its gilded lid, her fingertips tracing the edges of the inlaid pearls that decorated its edges. The little piece was also decorated with emeralds and rubies, which had been inlaid in the shape of a flower.

“Do you like it, my dear?” asked the Dowager Empress, stroking her long blonde hair, which her ladies in waiting had braided and decorated with diamonds.

“I love it, grandma!” cried out the girl, “It’s a music box, right?”

Maria nodded. “Indeed. And let me show you how to open it.”

With a click of her fingers, a young boy came forward, carrying a silken cushion upon which lay a beautiful medallion. The boy bowed low to the Dowager Empress, but when he looked up he froze. He seemed to have forgotten why he was there, and it had happened the moment he’d set his light-blue eyes on the princess.

He was...awestruck, by her.

The Dowager Empress leaned over towards him.

“Young man, it is not polite, nor your place, to stare,” she said quietly, not wanting to scold him too hard for what was truly a minor infraction.

Plenty of boys his age stared at C.C.. It was impossible not to – she was a princess, she was beautiful, she was accomplished, despite her young age...

But it didn’t mean she would allow just anyone to gawk, either. C.C. wasn’t some doll in a toy shop window! She was a person, a lady, a Grand Duchess of Russia, and she would be shown courtesy and respect. Luckily, the Dowager Empress’ words appeared to bring him out of it, because he started and looked horrified and embarrassed.

“M-my apologies, Your Majesty, Your Imperial Highness!” he bowed his head, cheeks reddening. “I meant no offence.”

“I know. But this behaviour shall not be repeated,” she said sternly, taking the pendant in her delicate hands. She passed it over to her grandchild, who inspected it with care, not aware or interested in the embarrassment of the young servant. “Leave us now,” she said, waving him away,

The boy went, daring to sneak one look over his shoulder as he did.

The Dowager Empress saw (and, feeling her telling off had been enough, said nothing) but the intended recipient of the look was occupied. She was still studying the pendant, a look of wonder on her face.

“Grandmama, it’s beautiful!” the girl gasped, before at last dropping her gaze from it to hug her grandmother. “Thank you!”

Marie chuckled, and hugged her back. She had always adored spoiling her grandchildren, C.C. especially so, and getting to do it again before she left for Paris was a blessing.  She also hoped it would be something of a “farewell for now” present to her granddaughter.

Stewart had told her C.C. didn’t like hearing about her moving away at all. It was clear she liked things the way they were, and Marie didn’t blame her. At such a young age, any change might suggest something permanent, and even though she was only going away for a season, the time in the princess’ mind might seem longer than it was.

But little gifts to remind her that no matter what happened, she was loved, were just the right way of smoothing things over.

“Read what it says, my girl,” said the older woman, bouncing the girl on her knees.

The princess squinted her eyes at the pendant. It had a little inscription on its back...

“Together in Paris...” she said, and looked up at her grandmother, eyes shining. She knew her grandmother was going away, but maybe this meant that...

“You’ll be spending summer with me, in Paris,” explained Marie, closing her hands around C.C.’s.

C.C.’s eyes widened in excitement, “Really?!”

“Really,” Marie lightly tapped her on the nose. “We’ll shop, we’ll see famous artworks, we’ll have lunch in beautiful restaurants...! It will be wonderful, my child. And completely the right time!”

It truly was the right time. C.C. wasn’t going to be a girl much longer, and she needed to spend some time away from her parents, learning a little independence.

The necklace would be a reminder of, and an instrument in, that.

And speaking of instruments...

“You know your pendant also has a very special other job to do?” she asked, only continuing when the girl shook her head no. “Bring it here, I’ll show you...”

She took her granddaughter’s hand with the pendant in it towards the music box. There was a tiny hold in it – a gap no more than a few millimetres, and together they unlocked it.

When opened, the lid was inlaid with soft velvet. Dusty, but still useable.

And it played the most wonderful tune...!

And Marie began to hum it. C.C. knew it like the back of her own hand as well - her grandmother often sung it to her as she put her to bed at night.

It was their song.

_“On the wind, across the sea_

_hear this song and remember_

_soon you’ll be, home with me_

_Once Upon a December”_

Marie smiled at her granddaughter as she sang. She’d always had a lovely voice – a voice she’d know anywhere.

“It’s to remind you of me, whenever we are apart,” she told the girl. “It will only be for a short while, though. We only have to wait until summer.”

C.C. still knew she was going to miss her grandmother. It would feel like a very long time until then, even if her parents did try to distract her. But she didn’t want to upset her grandmother, either. She had done everything she could, really, even if some people might have said that she didn’t have to go away at all.

But C.C. nodded anyway, “I know, Grandmama. And summer will be so fun, when it comes!”

Marie beamed, and kissed her forehead.

She had been about to declare it the most fun summer anyone had ever had, when something else caught her attention.

A worrying heat, as she pressed her lips against her granddaughter’s skin.

She frowned, “Hm. You appear to be feverish, child...”

Marie pressed the back of her hand against C.C.'s forehead, wanting to confirm what her maternal instincts (which rarely failed) had just told her. And indeed, the heat was there, only C.C. hadn't noticed it because she was probably having the time of her life.

Her brother, Tsarevich Noel Stewarovich, turned twenty-two that day, and as his birthday had coincided with the Romanov tricentennial, it had been decided that both celebrations would be held together. As such, the family hadn't spared no expense in making the event as lavish and as grandiose as possible.

The day had begun with extravagant pageants and parades, followed by the Imperial Family processing from the Red Square to the palace in an open carriage escorted by two squadrons of His Majesty's Own Horseguards and Cossack riders donning black caftans and red Caucasian hats.

The ball was only the icing on the cake, and C.C. had been waiting for this event for a long time.

After all, this was her very first ball!

Regardless, she was sick. She needed to go back to her rooms. There would be more balls that she could attend in the future; they had to think of her health first.

"I must tell your parents about this," Marie sentenced, helping C.C. slip the pendant on. "And then I'll take you to bed."

C.C. felt a jolt of annoyance go through her. This was her first ball – the first one she’d been allowed to stay up for! And her grandmother was going to leave whilst she went to bed?!

No! She wouldn’t have it!

“But Grandmama!” she protested, trying hard to cling to Marie as she got up. “I feel fine!”

“That doesn’t mean that you are,” the Dowager Empress told her, getting up from her chair and taking C.C. with her. “You could be sick, my darling. And if you are sick you cannot play, or have your lessons, or feel like you are enjoying yourself! It is best to rest, and take care.”

C.C. didn’t want to rest. Her first ball was being spoiled!

Though part of that might have been the uncomfortable warmth coming over her...maybe she just needed to sit down for a while...

Marie halted them both half-way to her parents, “Besides, if you are too sick, you might still be sick when summer comes. And if you are that unwell, you will not be allowed to come visit me in Paris...”

That seemed to shut down any complaints coming from the young princess.

If there was something she wasn’t willing to risk, it was summer in Paris. She’d never visited any other country apart from Russia, and although she loved her home, she was itching to discover the great capitals of Europe.

She’d always had a fascination for Western Europe. She knew her mother came from England, and also that her great-grandmother had been the great Queen Victoria, Queen of England and empress of one of the biggest empires in the world. To her, Western Europe represented rich and intriguing cultures, wealth, class, fashion, innovation...

It was all so alien! So foreign...

And at the same time, it enticed her curiosity to no end.

A missed ball seemed like a small sacrifice to make if it meant visiting the City of Lights.

She remained silent as they made their way over to her parents, who were dancing the Mazurka – partially because she knew her grandmother wouldn’t give any room to her complaints and also because she was starting to experience the symptoms of an upcoming cold.

When her Papa realised something must have been going on, he stopped, and her Mama soon followed. They looked concerned as Marie brought C.C. over, now actively leading her by the hand as the little princess started to feel slightly dizzy.

“Mother?” Stewart blinked. “Is something the matter?”

Marie brought C.C. forward, “Your daughter has a fever. I just came to inform you that I will be putting her to bed.”

Stewart looked disappointed, and he crouched down to his daughter, “Oh, no! And on your very first ball too, Kotyonok!”

 B.B. sighed a little at her husband, “It cannot be helped, Stewart...! Her health comes first!”

“I know that,” Stewart said, stroking his daughter’s cheek. “It’s just a shame that it happened today, that’s all!”

It was more than a shame to the little girl. But she wasn’t going to say so – she didn’t want to risk complaining if Paris was still at risk.

But Stewart continued so it didn’t matter.

“You get comfortable in bed, sweetheart,” he told her. “We’ll be up to see you soon. And we’ll tell Noel you said happy birthday. Alright?”

C.C. let go of Marie’s hand to hug her father, unhappy that she had to miss out on the fun. She wanted to stay with them, taking part in the celebrations...

It seemed not even being a princess saved her from the nuisance of having to keep bed rest.

Her mother joined in on the hug, “I promise we’ll hold another ball soon. Maybe we can even hold your very own ball for your birthday next January.”

That did sound like it would be nice. A big celebration, surrounded by her loved ones...

Apart from her Grandmama. But then she’d spend a whole season with her, and everything would be alright.

She hugged her parents tighter, “I love you...”

“We love you too,” Stewart kissed the top of her head.

Her Mama did too, “Now get upstairs and get into bed. Get a good night’s sleep, and be refreshed in the morning, my darling.”

C.C. nodded, and let herself be kissed by them both once more, before Marie took her hand again to lead her upstairs. It wasn’t long before she was in a pair of comfortable pyjamas, and Marie was tucking her up in her bed. The music box had been placed carefully on her bedside table, next to a bowl of cool water and a cloth that Marie would occasionally use to dab at C.C.’s forehead.

She insisted on doing it herself. No maid was going to take a job which belonged to a grandmother.

“How are you feeling, my darling?” the Dowager asked, smoothing out her bedsheets.

“Not so good,” the girl mumbled. “It’s really cold...”

Marie shushed her, brushing her hair out of her sweaty forehead again.

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” she murmured in return. “Just let me pick up the cloth and I’ll...”

She never finished her sentence. There was some kind of commotion going on downstairs – it must have been loud, as she could hear it all the way up where they were.

Bidding her granddaughter to wait, she went to the window.

Her eyes widened at the horror she found.

Men. Uniformed men, storming the palace with rifles in their hands!

And they were… killing. They were shooting at the guards, the guests who’d come outside for air, the servants who got in their way...everybody!

Her eyes went to C.C.. She had to get her out of there, whether the girl was sick or not!

Rushing to her, she threw back the bedcovers.

“There has been a change of plan, my darling,” she told her. “We are getting you up and dressed, and then we are getting out of this place!”

She pulled her grandchild out of bed, knowing they had little time to try and escape. They had to get rid of all their jewels and ornaments – anything that could give away their identities and get them killed by the intruders.

Marie had no idea who these people were or what they wanted, but C.C. had to be removed from the palace. Urgently.

“What’s wrong Nana?!” C.C. asked as Marie ordered her to remove her nightgown. “What’s happening?!”

“We are in danger, child,” said the Dowager Empress, removing her own jewels and fancy dress. She’d ordered two maids to bring over a dress for her and C.C., and the two woman had only just returned with their clothing.

“Put this on, darling, and pocket as many jewels as possible,” said her nana, handing her one of the dresses before beginning to put one herself.

C.C. did as she was told, despite the confusion. But if her Grandmama was telling her to do something urgently right then instead of making her rest, it was very important that she followed the instruction.

So she dressed as quickly as she could, with Marie helping her occasionally if she didn’t think she was moving fast enough. They filled her pockets with all that they could, fastened C.C.’s new necklace around her neck, and then they went to take a peek out the door.

Marie went first, opening it just a crack...

And there she met a set of bright-blue eyes.

Gasping, she leapt backwards, prepared to defend C.C. with her own life if necessary.

“Do not touch her!” she screamed, throwing her arms out to shield her granddaughter.

But there were no bullets. Only...desperate _shushing_?

Then she looked properly.

It was the young boy who’d served them, down in the ballroom! He was trying his hardest to get her to be quiet.

“Please, Your Imperial Majesty,” he implored. “We must all be quiet, else we will be discovered! Do not fret, I am here to get you out!”

He was...getting them out. A little serving boy was going to be their saviour that day. Marie never thought she’d live to see any of this! From a militia destroying her home and killing her friends, to a servant taking charge and practically promising them they would be safe...

But there was clearly no time to be wasted in thinking. She couldn’t wait around questioning why it was the boy in particular who was helping, she just had to be grateful that anyone was helping at all!

“Very well, then,” Marie said, starting to herd C.C. to the door. “How do you propose to do so, boy?”

He ran out ahead of them, “There are escape tunnels here Your Imperial Majesty! I was informed of them when I was brought into servitude. They lead right out of the palace!”

Of course, Marie already knew that. It just surprised her that a serving boy who had previously gawked at the sight of C.C. could now be so...determined, and driven to do his duty!

“Now, follow me, I will guide you to safety!” said the boy, beckoning both royals to follow him out of the room and across the hallway.

Before, when her life hadn’t been at stake, C.C. had never paid any attention to the wall’s ornate panels. Now, as the servant boy pushed one of them in to reveal a secret passageway, C.C. was surprised by her own obliviousness.

Had she known about these corridors, she would have used them to wreak havoc around the palace!

Marie pushed her into the corridor, instructing that she remain silent, which was a stark reminder of the dire situation they currently found themselves in. Marie followed her, and lastly came the boy, who made sure to close and bolt the passageway door shut.

“Let me go first, Your Imperial Highnesses,” spoke the boy in a hushed voice, groping his way to the front of the line. “I shall guide you through the passageway.”

They really weren’t in any position to argue, so they let the boy go first. He seemed to have been down the passage before, so it was for the best. He hurried away down the little corridor, and Marie and C.C. had to move as quickly as they could to keep up. They didn’t care how fast he was going. If he could get them out he could sprint for all they cared!

One thing was certain – it was taking C.C.’s mind off her cold!

It was impossible to be worried about such a thing, when they didn’t even know where they were going...

“You are doing wonderfully, Your Imperial Majesty, Your Imperial Highness!” the boy half-whispered back to them. “We are almost halfway to the way out already!”

Only halfway?! Marie felt like they’d been running forever! She could hear shouting and gunfire coming from just the other side of the wall, and C.C. was getting tired already...

But they had to keep going!

It was only a few more yards before they absolutely had to stop, and the boy appeared to be allowing them. There was a gap in the panel where they fell, and C.C. took a chance to glance into the room.

A room, which had once been a grand parlour, but was now emptied of loot and mostly destroyed otherwise. It had been stripped bare, and C.C. could only watch in helpless silence as her siblings were dragged and shoved, crying and screaming all the way, and made to line up along the wall.

Then her parents were thrown in too, staggering but not quite falling.

The uniformed man who threw them brandished his rifle at them. More men soon piled in behind him, all dressed the same way and carrying the same weapons. Her sisters were still sobbing, and so was her Mama. Her Papa reached out to them. C.C. wished he could see her, and take her hand to tell her everything was going to be alright, too.

“Please, sweethearts, it’s all going to be–”

He was interrupted by a round being fired into the ceiling.

“Shut up!” the soldier in charge ordered. “Get against the wall!”

Her Mama and Papa did as they were told. C.C. had never seen anybody order her parents around like that – ever! They were the Tsar and Tsarina of the Russian Empire! No one told them what to do!

At least, no one did until now...

They took her siblings’ hands, Noel helping, as they stood in a line, facing towards the men lining up in front of them.

“It’s just like a parade, children,” her Papa said, calmly but loudly. “We’re all walking, watching the soldiers...”

“I said, shut up!” the man in charge snapped again, pointing his gun at them. “Now kneel. All of you.”

Stewart’s chest swelled in indignation. C.C. knew he wouldn’t kneel – he had never knelt to anyone in his whole life!

C.C. saw him grip all their hands tighter, encouraging them to do the same.

And he looked every inch a Tsar as he answered.

“No.”

That seemed to enrage the soldier. C.C. felt a horrible feeling in her gut, like it had been the wrong thing for her Papa to say.

The soldier in charge approached him, rifle still pointing at his heart.

C.C. held her breath.

That was her Papa, and that man’s Tsar! He couldn’t point a gun at him!

“So you are not going to kneel?” asked the angry man.

The cries of her siblings were terrible, and Noel and her Mama tried to shush them, but it was no use.

“Never,” her Papa replied, gripping her Mama’s hand tighter.

There was a pause.

“Very well then,” said the soldier, preparing to shoot.

Her father took a deep breath.

But in the last second, the soldier cocked his weapon to the side, and shot her Mama in the chest. The children screamed as she fell, and C.C. wished she could do the same. But her grandmother clamped a hand over her mouth to stop her from doing so.

Mama… her Mama…!

“B.B.!”

The cry of horror and sorrow came from her father, who tried to reach out for her hand. But he wasn’t able to grab it, before she collapsed to the floor.

“No...!” he was nearly sobbing, but his anger overcame that. He turned to snarl at the men. “You monsters! I’m the one you want, take me!”

“We will,” the soldier reloaded his weapon. “But not until you kneel.”

Again, C.C. knew he wouldn’t kneel.

Romanovs were proud, her father had once said. They’d rather die standing than on their knees.

“You only need me,” Stewart said. “Let the children go.”

The man’s eyebrow raised, “And let there be heirs to this crumbling symbol of tyranny? No, I will not allow that to happen.”

C.C. didn’t know what that meant entirely, but she knew it wasn’t good.

And that was confirmed when the man then pointed the gun at her siblings.

“So… which one will it be first?”

Stewart tried to pull his family to him.

Well, some of his family. His youngest daughter was still being kept silent even as she sobbed.

“Get behind me, children,” her Papa said. “Don’t look at Mama, just get behind me...”

C.C. couldn’t help looking at her Mama. And her siblings tried to do as their father said. C.C. could see they were trying. But it was hard – their mother wasn’t moving anymore, and her blood was pouring out over the worn ground, and she couldn’t help wanting to see her still.

But they weren’t given much of a chance. The man marched forward, grabbed them by the wrists and forced them back into line.

“You’ll stand where I tell you to!” he screamed.

He then stormed away from them, going towards his own lined up soldiers.

C.C. wanted to look away, but she couldn’t.

“I will tell you again to kneel,” he shouted to his Tsar, her Papa. “And every time you don’t, I will also order these men to fire.”

 But he didn’t kneel.

What’s more, he and all of her siblings puffed out their chests.

C.C. knew that she would’ve done the same. They were the imperial family of all Russia. They were powerful and strong. They had pride and courage.

They would never kneel.

Her Papa had always said so.

“Are you going to kneel or not, Romanov?” spat the man.

Her Papa’s answer was to spit on the floor.

“Fine, on your head be it,” said the soldier. He turned to his soldiers and gestured for them to take aim, each guard pointing at one Romanov.

C.C. held her breath and prayed, but it changed nothing.

Her brother Noel was the first to be shot.

They continued with her sister Olga.

Then, Tatiana.

Maria followed.

C.C. flinched with every gunshot. They all fell to the floor, still alive but their bodies wracked with spasms as their lives left them.

They left her Papa standing, guns loaded and trained on him.

“And now, Romanov?” the man snarled. “Will you now kneel, with nothing left to lose and your children’s bodies at your feet?”

C.C. was still crying. She had no idea what her father would do now.

But he was staring straight ahead. It was almost like...

No. It _was_! Her father was looking straight at _them_ , through the gap in the passage wall!

But he was soon distracted again.

“There’s one princess missing, sir!” cried out one of the soldiers as he studied the bodies. “There’s supposed to be five children, right?”

They knew she wasn’t there. But her Papa wouldn’t tell. Not if it meant being shot like her Mama and her siblings.

Thinking about it and seeing them made her want to cry more.

“Yes...there were five,” the man said, glaring at her Papa. “Where’s the last of your brood?!”

Her Papa stayed stone-faced.

C.C. knew he wouldn’t say a word, even though it was obvious what would happen next.

He’d always promised to keep her safe, and that’s what he was doing.

“Away,” he told them. “Far away from here.”

C.C. felt her tears pooling as they were caught in her grandmother’s hand.

Papa...her Papa was going to let these men shoot him...

All to let her live...

“What?! Where is she?!” the soldier screamed, stalking towards the Tsar.

He used the butt of his rifle to strike Stewart on the side of his head. The blow was hard enough to force her Papa to the floor, but he still got back to his feet.

Or he tried to.

He was struck again. And again. And again.

He was struck every time he tried to stand. But he remained strong. Even there was blood trickling down the side of his head, staining his fine clothing, he continued to try.

And C.C. didn’t think she’d ever loved her Papa more, or needed him more.

“I won’t die on my knees!” screamed Stewart, and pushed the man, managing to stand. “And you won’t find my C.C. — she left for the ports with her nannies long ago!”

It was a lie, of course, but C.C. thought maybe they wouldn’t realise. And it kept her Grandmama safe too, by not mentioning her.

The soldier sneered at him, “You stupid shit,” he said, “Now we know where and who to look for. And I’ll make sure she has a slow and painful death. Just like you.”

The man unsheathed his knife then, and stabbed her Papa over ten times. All in front of C.C. and Marie’s eyes.

There was nothing Marie could do to stop her watching as her father was murdered in cold blood.

C.C.’s eyes wandered in horror over the scene, as her father lay on the floor, twitching in the throes of an agonising death, as his blood mingled with her mother’s and that of her siblings. And his eyes, rapidly becoming glassy, never left hers.

But it didn’t once catch the attention of the soldiers.

“Good work, comrades,” the uniformed man said. “Let’s move out!”

They filed out of the room soon after, heading out to look for more innocents to savagely put to death.

And left the young C.C. crying quietly and helplessly into her grandmother’s tight embrace.

“We have to move.”

Marie’s voice cracked.

Her heart cracked.

Her soul cracked.

She knew that henceforth nothing would ever be the same.

She’d seen her own son die. She’d witnessed as his own subjects – traitors – murdered him and his family in cold blood. Only C.C. and herself remained.

They only had each other, and Marie would protect her with her life.

And she had to get the little one moving.  But C.C. didn’t want to move – she wanted to stay right where she was to be held by her last remaining relative.

But Marie couldn’t allow it. At least, not until they were safely away from there.

When they were in Paris. Then they could start to process it all – she’d hold the girl until she fell asleep at night, and they’d cry and remember the people they’d lost.

“Come on, my darling – we must leave this place,” she muttered into the girl’s hair. “We cannot stay. Your Mama and Papa would not want us to stay.”

C.C., hurting deeply all over, nodded. She knew her parents would tell her to get away, and even though it was painful to even think of carrying on and tearing herself away from the closest she’d ever be to her parents again, she had to go.

They had to follow the boy, and get out before they were found as well.

So they did. They followed him all down the passages and endless corridors, Marie making sure her girl – her sole responsibility now – stayed firmly with her, and didn’t listen to the shouting and the sound of gunfire going on just the other side of the wall.

She wasn’t letting C.C. out of her sight ever again.

And, after an eternity of more corridors and twists and turns that Marie hadn’t thought possible at her age, they came to the end. The boy unscrewed the hatch at the end, and shoved the door open. It led out into a little side street just by the kitchens.

“Follow me, my ladies,” the boy was still ready to run, despite the exhaustion they’d all suffered. “I can take you safely to the train station!”

Well, he’d helped them so far...

Marie grabbed C.C.’s hand and made to follow him.

The streets were full of people heading from the palace, either having looted it, been a servant there who was allowed to escape (posing no threat), or having been a soldier who had finished his duty for the time being.

To be safe, they took the back streets. It was snowing and slippery, but Marie kept a tight hold of C.C. the whole way. It felt like they’d been running all night, and that they’d never get out before they were found, when an eerie voice came to them.

A voice that made them freeze, and the hairs stand up on the back of their necks.

“Running off to somewhere, are we?”

Marie knew the voice better than C.C.. She had only been young when the man had been thrown out of the court.

“Rasputin,” she growled, bringing C.C. behind her.

And indeed, a tall figure emerged from the shadows – the supposed healer. He was nothing but an evil wizard who’d taken advantage of her family’s desperation. Stewart and B.B. had posted a fortune for anyone who was able to cure Noel, who’d suffered from a bad case of haemophilia, and so Rasputin, being the conniving snake he was, had appeared at their doorstep, like a Godsent, and offered a cure.

Initially, the treatment had worked, but when the wizard had demanded for more money, Stewart had refused him and banished him from court.

Rasputin had promised he’d get (and subsequently gotten) his revenge.

 “Your Former Imperial Majesty,” sneered the thin, bearded man, wearing a monk’s robe. “What a lovely night for a revolution!”

She should have guessed that he’d have done this! He’d used dark magic before, it wouldn’t be beyond him to do so again, and cause death and destruction!

The death and destruction of her own family...

“You won’t get away with this, sorcerer,” Marie spat.

Rasputin looked unfazed, “I believe I will, little woman. You have no power anymore, and no way out. And I will take your granddaughter first, just to prove how alone you are!”

But as he took a step forward, so did the serving boy. He leapt up, and started to punch wherever he could on the older man’s body!

“Go!” he cried, continuing to hit and kick and otherwise keep Rasputin occupied. “You have to leave now!”

Marie wasn’t about to disagree. She took C.C. and they ducked down the nearest street, taking off as quickly as they could through the city. They were nearly there. The boy had taken them most of the way and bought them time. He’d be remembered for his courage.

Marie had started to recognise some of the landmarks, too, and knew that the train station was only a little way away.

All they had to do was cross the bridge, and go through into the station.

The train was waiting there. The whistle was blowing, and they were going to make it!

Marie very nearly laughed to herself in relief. She got to the steps and pulled herself up.

C.C. was directly behind her, feeling the same sense of relief as her grandmother.

They were going to Paris! They’d gotten away! They were going to–

She never finished the thought. Her hand slipped on the smooth metal of the rail, and she fell.

“C.C., no!” Marie cried out, hand stretching helplessly for her granddaughter as the train began to pull away.

“Grandmam- _oomph_!”

C.C. fell backwards onto the platform, smacking her head on the snowy concrete below, and the world immediately went black.


	2. Chapter 2

**_ Chapter 2 _ **

 

Soviet Russia

December 1922

 

Claire couldn’t believe she’d actually done it. She’d woken up in the dead of night, like she’d planned, she’d slipped out of bed (if the thin-blanketed cot she’d had to sleep on for so long could be called a bed), crept across the floor without waking anybody up, made her way down the rickety old stairs, got into the kitchen for some last-minute supplies, and then managed to open the front door and head right on out of there!

She’d just made it through the orphanage gate, and she’d stopped to admire her own feat.

She’d been dreaming of the moment for years. The moment she’d finally leave that god forsaken place.

She’d started thinking about it practically on arrival, if she was honest. She remembered she’d been found wandering the streets with a head wound and no recollection of who she was (apart from her name, which rang a bell as being right), or who her parents were. Some people had cleaned her up and taken her to the orphanage, but the woman running the place, Ekaterina Popova, had been...less than sympathetic to her plight.

She’d put her on chores right away, and Claire had had no food until she was finished with them all. Apparently she “looked fat enough to survive missing a meal”.

She certainly wasn’t that fat anymore. Over the course of the next few years it had all been beaten and starved out of her by Ekaterina.

She was much smaller and weaker than her cohorts due to the neglect and the abuse she’d been subjected to. And although Ekaterina detested and mistreated every single child in that orphanage, she held a special kind of hatred for Claire.

Since the very first moment Claire had arrived at the orphanage, Ekaterina had made it obvious that she was an unwanted burden, and she’d treated her as such, giving her more gruelling and harder tasks than the other children, and punishing her on a regular basis.

Every orphan met Ekaterina’s leather belt once or twice, but Claire had felt the sting of the hard leather against her skin more times than she could remember. She had scars – big, nasty scars that covered part of her upper and lower back – to prove it.

She couldn’t understand why Ekaterina detested her so, but Claire did know one thing: she was not going to tolerate the abuse any longer.

Back when she’d first been found, her pockets had been filled with diamonds, jewels and precious stones, which she’d been forced to hand over to Ekaterina. The one thing she’d been allowed to keep, however, was a beautiful pendant.

The only clue to her past.

She’d never taken it off. Not even when Ekaterina had threatened her with not feeding her for a week if she didn’t turn in the necklace.

But she couldn’t hand it over. It had the only words on it that had ever offered her any hope.

_“Together in Paris”._

She didn’t know what it meant exactly. She didn’t know who this person she was supposed to be together with was, or if they would even still be there. They might have gone away, given up hope of finding someone who had clearly meant a lot to them once.

But Claire wasn’t going to give up hope. Maybe they’d still be there, and be able to tell her who she was.

Now that she’d escaped, she could do it. She could go to Paris, and find out.

And maybe she’d find the love and family that she’d craved ever since she’d arrived at the place she’d had to exist for far too long.

She hadn’t wanted to give Ekaterina the satisfaction of kicking her out when she turned eighteen. At seventeen and ten months old, she was confident that she would be able to find a job, and if she needed to, she was willing to lie about her age.

After five years at that orphanage, she was prepared to take any job, no matter how taxing or how low-paying. She was certain that no job could be as bad as living under Ekaterina’s roof. Luckily for her, the bakery down the road was owned by a kindly old woman named Irina Zolotova.

Irina seemed to be the only person who actually cared about the children at the orphanage. She was well aware of the abuse going on, so she would always feed them some fresh bread or pastries when they visited her store. She’d also provide them with medicine and some money if they needed it.

Many of the orphans went to her for a job when they were kicked out of the orphanage, and although she couldn’t afford to hire them for long, Irina always allowed them to stay for a short while until they found a stable job that allowed them to rent a room of their own.

Naturally, C.C. was planning on asking her for aid first thing in the morning. Irina was the polar opposite of Ekaterina, so seeing as the latter abhorred C.C., the former adored her. Irina seemed to see something in her that other people didn’t. But that might have just been her imagination, and the fact that the baker was so kind to everyone.

But it didn’t matter. She also offered hope.

She would go first thing in the morning. It was decided. She’d get a job and save enough money to go to Paris.

And then she might have a chance at finding everything out.

But for now, she had to get to the place she was going to use as temporary overnight accommodation – a small cave hidden in the wildwoods. She’d found it ages ago, when she’d left the orphanage to wander the streets for the day, and it appeared that no one knew where it was apart from her.

That made it safe. Which made it ideal.

She’d spent time and effort preparing it, and now all she had to do was make her way there one last time.

One last time, and hopefully never again.

“Come on, Claire,” she muttered to herself as she began to trudge her way through the snow. “You can do this.”

Surviving this night meant a job. A job meant money. Money meant a train ticket...

She kept going, thinking about which step led to what.

A train ticket meant Paris. Paris meant...

It meant… home? Family? Belonging?

She couldn’t quite decide.

She only knew that this was the first step in order to find a place of her own, and Claire dreamed of finding one. Somewhere with a real bed, and real cooked food, and a warm fire that crackled for hours because it was made of logs, not twigs. Part of her felt like she needed it because she’d had it before. But that was ridiculous – again, she was an orphan, found wandering the streets after her parents were probably taken away during the Revolution or something. She didn’t know, she didn’t remember them.

All she had was the present.

She’d never stopped trying to remember her family. Since the very first moment she’d forced herself to try and think back; forced herself to bring up an old memory that would guide her home...

But she’d never managed it.

Occasionally, her mind would surrender a blurry memory of a long lost past: playing in lush gardens with a young man (her brother, maybe?), dancing on a pair of shiny black shoes, the feeling of gentle hands threading through her hair as a soothing voice told her that she was loved...

And a lullaby.

That was her most prominent memory: a lullaby.

A lullaby that was hers and hers alone. A lullaby she was supposed to sing while thinking about an old woman who loved her very much:

_On the wind, across the sea_

_hear this song and remember_

_soon you’ll be, home with me_

_Once Upon a December._

It was perhaps the most concrete memory she had, and she couldn’t even remember where it had come from.

 But if Paris was just around the corner in her life, she could find out. And that fuelled her like nothing else in her life.

She rushed through the streets with the melody echoing in her head and the beginnings of tears in her eyes. Luckily the roads and alleys were deserted, otherwise she’d probably be too distracted to notice if someone was trying to sneak up on her. She was constantly on edge after so much abuse, but if she was overcome with emotion it took the world around her out of focus.

But she made it to her little temporary safe haven.

It might have been a cave, and therefore suspect when it came to dampness and the presence of wild animals, but it was out of the wind and free from snow. She’d packed it with supplies, including candles and blankets, and the extra food she’d lifted from the kitchen that night would make an adequate late-dinner-slash-early-breakfast.

It was far more than she’d had at the orphanage that day, at any rate.

Ekaterina had sent her to the pile of rags she’d had to call a bed without supper, for not cleaning the cellar properly. Apparently she’d been supposed to wash the flagstones, not just sweep them, even though it was so cold down there putting water on the steps was asking for a sheet of ice.

Claire was no stranger to hunger, but escaping had whet her appetite. Her empty stomach churned and twisted painfully, yearning to be filled with something – anything with a little nutritional value. She reached out for one of the tinned cans of pre-cooked meat she’d heisted from the kitchens, used a knife (also stolen) to crack the can open and peeled back the lid.

She fell on her meal ravenously, almost as if the cold contents of the can were the most exquisite delicacy she’d ever tried. It wasn’t obviously, but hunger inevitably lowers the bar.

At any rate, it was better than nothing.

She washed it down with a little vodka, which she’d stored in a small hip-flask Irina had given her a few weeks ago, when she’d found out Ekaterina sometimes punished her by prohibiting her from drinking water.

When she finished her meal, Claire put the empty can and the flask to one side, moved to cover the entrance to her cave (both to keep wild animals and the cold out) and built a small fire with the little tinder she’d been able to collect in the days before her escape. She stacked the kindling on top of the tinder and used a lighter she’d stolen from one of the stores in town to light it.

Despite being small, the fire radiated a comfortable warmth that, combined with having had the most copious meal in over a month, made Claire feel somewhat content. She lay down at a safe distance from her small campfire and wrapped her blankets tightly around her, and even if it wasn’t very comfortable or particularly warm, she was thankful to be there rather than at the orphanage. she knew it was bearable.

Although a little room in an inn or above a store would be even better...

There, she could rest after a long day’s work and save up money to go somewhere else.

Maybe that somewhere would be Paris, and that someone would still be waiting.

She closed her eyes then, and settled in for what sleep she could get, dreaming of pendants, Paris, and warm reunions.

She didn’t see the two figures arrive from nowhere in the cave. The light that announced their presence couldn’t be seen by mortal eyes – only by those who’d passed into death. And as such, the only two who were aware of it were the former Tsar and Tsarina.

Stewart hadn’t been able to stand seeing C.C. so alone. Their little one had never been alone before the coup that took them from her, and he’d be damned if he was going to sit around watching from the realm of the dead if he could do something about it.

And his wife had been adamant about doing something, too.

So he and B.B. had crossed back into the realm of the living, hoping that their presence in spirit might be able to bring their daughter some sense of comfort.

Back when C.C. had been born, the empire was disappointed. Noel, their first born and Tsarevich, had always had a notoriously poor health, so B.B. had been expected to produce a second heir to secure the succession to the throne should anything happen to Noel. However, her four subsequent pregnancies had produced only Grand Duchesses rather than the desired second male heir. C.C. had been their last daughter, the baby of the family, and as such she’d been doted on by her parents and older siblings alike. Upon her birth, Stewart had said that their daughter was a gift sent from heaven for, had she been a boy, she would have belonged to the Empire, but as she was a girl, she belonged to them.

Their girl had been perfect: big blue eyes, shiny golden hair, long eyelashes and her mother’s sharp features.

Save for her nose – that was all Stewart.

They’d celebrated her arrival in the privacy of Peterhof Palace, and since by the time of C.C.’s birth B.B. had been a seasoned mother of four, she’d loosened up a little with her. Unlike her siblings, the littlest Romanov hadn’t been raised in the strict Victorian manner that B.B. had favoured when raising her elder children. Quite the opposite, in fact – C.C.’d been incredibly spoiled, regularly getting new toys and clothes rather than hand-me-downs from her sisters, and she’d also been allowed to get away with murder (most of the times).

But despite being mischievous, cheeky, and at times behaving in a manner that bordered on disobedience, she’d been a happy, kind-hearted and down-to-Earth child.

Stewart remembered how he would always put her to bed, and her mother would then come and read her a story, always ending it with a goodnight kiss from the both of them. B.B. remembered how they would tuck her in, warm and snug in her blankets, and stay with her for a few minutes, until she fell asleep.

Much like they were doing now.

Only the context was rather different.

And a lot more painful...

“Oh, Stewart...” choked out B.B., her voice cracking, “She’s skin and bones!”

Stewart could see for himself, and it tore at him. They’d always made sure their children ate well, and the food brought to them was rich, hearty, and full of the most delicious flavours. He wondered if she even remembered eating anything other than bread and tinned foods – things with no taste or nutrition, designed to keep her alive but not for her to actually enjoy it.

But they couldn’t feed her, and it was the worst feeling either parent had ever had.

“Isn’t there anything we can do?!” B.B. was despairing, and Stewart didn’t blame her.

He wanted to be able to provide her with a feast; a never ending one that she could take food from every day, and grow and replenish her strength. He wanted to see her as the beautiful, healthy woman he’d imagined she’d grow up to be, not the frail shivering teenager that they were now seeing.

He wanted even more than that to be alive again, and to hold her in his arms.

Perhaps he could do something like that still? He had no physical body to hold her with, but he felt like there was something he could do. Something to help her, even in a small way. He approached her gingerly, almost afraid that somehow she would wake up and see him, and be afraid.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he murmured, sitting by her. “I know you don’t remember me. But I’m your Papa and I love you very much...”

B.B. did the same, taking the same seat by her daughter as she would have if C.C. had been in bed at home.

Home...she so desperately wanted them all to go home...!

It wasn’t fair. They were a family, and didn’t deserve to get split up like this!

“And I’m your Mama,” she whispered, tears spilling over before she could stop them. Not that she wanted them to. “And we’ll always be here, whether you can see or hear us or not.”

They would watch over her for as long as she lived. And when she at last (hopefully after she had achieved a great age and a prosperous life) came to them, she’d be welcomed into their arms with the warmth only family could provide.

A family she had, whether she knew it or not.

Both parents lay at each side of their child, cocooning her in their love. B.B. began stroking her hair, and somehow it must have worked, for the girl hummed in her sleep.

B.B. remembered she’d always liked to have her hair touched.

“You will get through this, Kotyonok,” Stewart murmured, rubbing C.C.’s back. “There is still someone waiting for you in Paris.”

His mother.

She’d been looking for C.C. tirelessly, offering a fortune for anything or anyone that led to her. Many had tried to con her, but despite any initial joy or glimmer of hope, so far her heart had been crushed more times than she could count.

Marie had been left behind to pick up the pieces of a broken life, too.

But speaking of Marie, B.B. remembered a lullaby she used to sing to C.C. when she was little.

A soft tune that had never failed to soothe her.

“On the wind, across the sea, hear this song and remember,” began B.B. in a soft, loving tone, “Soon you’ll be home with me, once upon a December.”

The song must have, on some level, got through to her. It must have reached some part of her sleeping mind – the part that remembered who she was – because she relaxed. Like she used to relax in her own bed, just before they turned off her bedside lamp and left her for the night.

But they weren’t going to leave her this time.

Especially not as, the longer they sat there watching and murmuring words of comfort, their girl began to twitch and gasp. They exchanged a look of concern. They knew a nightmare when they saw one. What would it be about that night? The orphanage worker locking her in the thin, leaking cupboard? Running through the streets to get to her cave but never making it?

A small, pleading cry told them what it was.

“Papa...No...!”

_Oh..._

It was _that_ night.

The night they’d all been murdered.

Violence and horror had overtaken Petersburg that night, but his girl had somehow found a way out. Marie had tried to get C.C. to safety – take her to Paris, where they would build a new life together...

But it hadn’t been.

C.C.’d fallen off the train.

She’d bumped her head.

And her identity had been lost then, as had the imperial magnanimity of the Romanovs.

Stewart still ached over the loss of his empire, his life, and his family, but nothing hurt more than having left little C.C. behind.

“No... no... Papa... Mama...” she gasped, thrashing on the cave’s floor. “Papa... Mama... Noel...”

It hurt worse than the any of the times he’d been stabbed to know that she didn’t know that they were there, that they loved her, and that they were never going away.

And when she woke up, she wouldn’t remember a thing.

“Stop! Please! Don’t hurt them!”

B.B. had her head buried in her hands by that stage, and she was shaking with her own sobs.

She didn’t know how much C.C. had seen that night, but it was obviously far too much. Perhaps it was better that the fall had wiped that memory out. She couldn’t imagine having to live the rest of her days haunted by it...

“Grandmama, wait!”

Stewart flinched. If only C.C. had managed to get on that train!

She’d be living the life of a wealthy (even if being royal meant nothing anymore) lady in a fine city, with a woman who loved her and would look after her. Not living alone like a vagrant, with no money, real food, or protection. This was not the life she was supposed to have. She was supposed to continue her education, they’d have given her a grand house, and she was supposed to find love and be loved...

But now...what could come of any of that? She had no way of being educated. She had no money for a room, let alone a house. And love...what hope did she have without the time to do anything but look after herself? What man would see her and decide that she was the one, when things were as they were?

She had to rely on herself, didn’t she? Herself and the love they could comfort her with from beyond the grave. They could at least sit with her through the nightmares, if no one else was going to be around to do so.

They didn’t know how long it took for the nightmare to play out. They didn’t know how many words of comfort they whispered into her ear to try and soothe it away to let her sleep. They didn’t know how many more times they would have to do it.

But they knew when it was over.

With one final, chilling shout, C.C. bolted upright.

“RASPUTIN!”

And then, as soon as she’d let the word out and started to catch her breath back, it became painfully obvious to her parents that everything had gone back to the way it was before. She’d only remembered them in her nightmare, which was now probably fading from her mind.

Was that the only way she’d ever see and remember who they were? By remembering their deaths in her nightmares? Stewart wondered if it might be better if she just forgot entirely. He hated seeing her suffer as she was, and being unable to do anything but the bare minimum to help...

And maybe not even that.

With a heavy heart, the former Tsar observed his youngest daughter hug herself for a little while, just muttering to herself that everything would be okay. She was not okay, he could tell, but the girl was also strong and stalwart – she’d gotten that from him. She schooled her emotions; forced herself to keep her composure despite the pain and hopelessness. She was a true Romanov.

Strong-minded and decisive when she had to be.

And she’d just made a decision – she had to go to St Petersburg.

She’d had this nightmare before, but she’d never been able to remember anything but loose fragments of her dream: fire, a scent of blood pervading the air, bullets being fired...

But this time... this time she’d noticed something new.

She now knew where most of her family had met their end: at the Winter Palace.

They’d been killed alongside the Tsar, his wife and their brood.

But why had they been there? Who had they been for them to be at the palace the night the Revolution started?

Wiping her eyes, she looked over towards the pile of things she’d brought with her from the orphanage. Tinned foods, extra blankets, candles...little things that upper classes didn’t worry about.

“Must’ve been servants,” she muttered to herself, pushing her blankets off and preparing to get up. “Who else would be at the palace, and get in the way of the revolutionaries before they got the Tsar?”

Stewart felt his jaw drop. Of course he couldn’t be angry, but it did hurt.

How could it not, when his own precious girl couldn’t even think that maybe her family was royal? Did she really not think she was special enough for that?

“Sweetheart...” he sighed, and reached out a hand to at least feign trying to touch her. “If only you knew...”

But she didn’t know. That had been taken from her, along with them.

And she was heading for the mouth of the cave. She peered out, checking it was light enough for something.

“Daybreak!” she grinned to herself. “Irina will be up!”

The couple knew who Irina was. They were very grateful to her for looking after their girl. For feeding her and giving her somewhere warm to stay whenever Ekaterina banished her outside. Perhaps she was going to get a proper breakfast. She certainly needed more than the little tin of unidentified something she’d consumed earlier.

“I’ll have a job in no time,” Claire told herself.

She’d just horrified her mother without even knowing it, and was out of the cave before another word could even be said.

“A...a job...” B.B. would have fainted, had she been a physical presence. “Stewart, our girl...! _A job_!”

Stewart heard. But he was willing to let it happen without too much complaint. His girl had no home, no money, no one to love her apart from Irina. She needed a job now, if she was to survive.

And that was more important than her pride as a royal, currently.

After all, what use was being a royal in a country without a monarchy?

They followed her out, Stewart consoling his wife all the way, and Claire unaware that two people were watching her out of the love that she hoped to find. The sunlight made diamonds out of the fresh fallen snow. It crunched pleasingly underfoot as Claire made her way towards the bakery.

The sign on the door was still turned to _“Closed”_ but she knew all she’d have to do was knock and Irina would come running to see who needed her help so early.

And that was exactly what happened. She watched through the store window as the woman hurried in with the speed of someone a third of her age to unlock and open the door.

“Why, Claire!” she was surprised by the early morning visit, and perhaps a little concerned. “Did you come for the first of the fresh loaves?”

She then lowered her voice, in case there were any passers-by (not that there were).

“Or did _she_ kick you out at this time of the morning?”

The look on the girl’s face told Irina everything she needed to know. Over the years she’d taken in countless of escapees from Ekaterina’s orphanage. They all had that same look in their eyes – the tiredness of a long (sometimes sleepless) night, the fear of being discovered, and the blossoming feeling of freedom born out of their decision to flee.

Claire was no different, but in her eyes she saw a special glint.

A sort of mischievous glint that spoke volumes.

She had something up her sleeve, and Claire being Claire, wouldn’t say a peep until the time was right.

“Come on in,” Irina said, ushering the teenager in “I’ll prepare you some tea and give you fresh clothes. You need them after a night in the woods. Then, we can discuss your little plan over breakfast.” 

“How did you–”

“Please, my darling girl,” smirked Irina, planting her left hand on her hip, “You are not the first, and certainly won’t be the last, orphan to escape Ekaterina’s tyranny. Now, chop-chop, get inside, time’s a waistin’!”

Well, things were certainly moving a lot quicker than Claire had expected! She did as she was told, and stepped inside.

The ovens must have been on for a little while, because the room was warm and the smell of baking bread was just starting to drift. Soon it would be out the door, and start enticing customers towards the shop. Perhaps even other children from the orphanage, who might have been denied breakfast and had come looking for something, anything that Irina could give. Bread, biscuits, cakes...

It made Claire’s mouth water just thinking about it! And as she stepped through into the back of the shop and went up the stairs to Irina’s little apartment, the kitchen table greeted her with a very tempting sight.

A honey cake, mostly untouched but for one slice taken out.

But she didn’t touch it. She seated herself at the table and occasionally allowed herself a glance as she tried to keep her attention on Irina, as the old woman bustled about making the tea.

The woman chatted about this and that as she prepared the drinks, never once appearing to look at her guest.

But Claire also knew that she was often wrong when it came to Irina and what the old woman saw.

“I’ll bring a knife over and we can have some of that cake you’ve been making eyes at,” the baker said amusedly.

Claire’s eyes immediately snapped forward, and she felt her cheeks redden. Irina chuckled, and turned to finally bring the tea tray over, complete with a knife, and some plates and forks for cake.

“No need to be embarrassed,” she settled the whole lot down. “You know I get plenty of people in here hungry for the cakes, and you are most deserving of one after your ordeal.”

She lifted up the knife and sliced a great big bit off to slide onto a plate, which she then pushed in front of Claire. The girl looked at her once more, and after another encouraging nod from Irina, she grabbed a fork and dug it into the cake.

The chunk she took away was hefty, and so sweet when she put it into her mouth that she almost cried. It hadn’t been very long since she’d last been at the bakery for something Irina didn’t mind giving out, but this was different. It tasted even more like heaven than usual, and no one apart from Irina herself appeared to have been near it!

None of the other orphans had been able to try it. She was the first.

It was the first time, as far as she could remember, that she’d had something worth having that the others didn’t. And it gave her a renewed sense of hope that there were better things still to come.

But first, she supposed she had to explain why she was there. If she could finish chewing the honey cake!

“Enjoying it?” Irina asked with a soft smile. When Claire nodded, she patted her affectionately on the arm. “Take all the time you need. We’ll have a nice long chat about it.”

A banging on the front door interrupted them.

Irina’s lips became a thin line and her nostrils flared. It was as if her whole demeanour had changed – there was no trace of the warmth and the sense of safety that usually reigned over whatever room Irina found herself.

Frankly, the look on her face was making C.C. a bit uneasy.

“Child, I want you to remain here, no matter what,” said Irina, getting to her feet. She sliced some more cake for C.C. and poured her a cup of tea.

All the while, the banging on the door persisted.

“Don’t make a peep,” Irina ordered, “I’ll deal with our unwanted guest.”

“Irina!” bellowed a gruff voice that made the hair on C.C.’ back stand on end. “Open the damn door! I know she is here!”

Of course it was Ekaterina. She always guessed where the orphans went during the day when they were being punished by not being fed. Straight to the old witch who didn’t give them any discipline!

Where could feeding them when they were told not to lead? Telling them that they were right to have ambition and could do what they wanted in life? Giving them proper beds and warm clothes?!

Ekaterina wasn’t going to have any of that. She wasn’t a charity, though for tax purposes the state was perfectly welcome to declare her one.

And she knew that Claire was upstairs.

And even though the girl was upstairs, she was afraid that Ekaterina would find her somehow.

“Ekaterina, what can I do for you this morning?” Irina asked sweetly, letting Ekaterina in. “I don’t open for some time, but I can always make an exception if it means feeding those poor children...”

“Don’t play pretend with me,” Ekaterina snarled. “There’s only one child here that we need to discuss and I know she’s somewhere in your store!”

Claire chanced creeping closer to the door to the upstairs landing. She was still out of sight, but it meant she could hear everything a little bit clearer.

And Claire could imagine the look on Irina’s face as she stared up at Ekaterina (the woman towered over her easily), and didn’t even break a sweat.

But if Claire knew anything at all about Irina, it was that she never broke a sweat. Not ever.

It was this kind of apparent confidence or arrogance that tended to annoy people. Especially Ekaterina.

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said pleasantly. “I haven’t even opened my shop yet, how could I possibly have customers in?”

Claire imagined Ekaterina’s nostrils flaring and eyes narrowing.

“You are capable of opening a door that reads “Closed”, Ekaterina argued. “Didn’t you think someone would have seen you before? You’ve practically had an Army wandering through the place!”

There was the sound of shuffling feet, as though Irina was moving to intercept someone trying to come into the apartment.

It was at that point that C.C. really resented the fact that even though Irina’s apartment was small and older than perhaps anyone could tell, she kept it immaculate. And that included repairs, so there were no holes in the floor that she could peer through. At least in the orphanage, she could peer through all kinds of cracks in the walls and holes in the floors to spy and see who was coming. It meant all kinds of colds as well, but it was sometimes worth it.

It meant seeing if there were any potential parents coming to see if they could adopt. At least, that’s what it had meant to her when she was younger. The older she got, it just meant seeing if Ekaterina was coming.

But no, the best she could do was listen.

She helped herself to another forkful of honey cake as she did.

“An army, no – hungry people, yes,” Irina said, remaining cheerful despite the threat that was no doubt looming over her by now. “None of whom I have seen today so far. Perhaps your own eyes were simply playing tricks on you, Ekaterina? If you had, say, locked one of the children outside, you might have imagined seeing them out of guilt...”

Claire held her breath. Ekaterina never felt guilty about anything – she seemed to lack the capacity. There was only room for malice, and the delight felt at inflicting it on others.

And she’d managed to scare most of the surrounding area, and to fool everyone else, into thinking that there wasn’t anything wrong. But the fact that Irina seemed to be keeping an eye out suggested that she had a plan. She wouldn’t have mentioned it directly to Ekaterina otherwise.

Was she going to report it to the authorities?

Claire wanted to help if so. She would testify without hesitation if the opportunity came up. The fact that Ekaterina hadn’t spoken a word felt dangerous, though. Like she was going to go one step further than just beating the children.

“Are you sure you want to play at this game with me, Zolotova?”

The threat was implicit in Ekaterina’s words but, had Claire been downstairs, she would have seen that they produced no effect whatsoever in Irina. She remained stone-faced. If anything, one of her eyebrows twitched slightly, and not precisely because of fear.

If there was something she wasn’t, it was afraid of this sadistic woman.

“I’d put that question to you, Popova,” replied the baker, “I don’t need to resort to the authorities in order to make you regret the day you decided to bully these children all the way to an early adulthood.”

Claire had to force herself not to drop her fork. Her jaw, however, was another thing entirely. In all her years at the orphanage, Claire had never seen anyone so much as make a peep back at Ekaterina, and yet here came Irina, practically making an open threat to her.

It was wonderful.

Heavy footfalls were heard, and a fist banged against the wooden countertop.

“Was that a threat?!” snarled Ekaterina.

Claire could almost see her bloodshot eyes and twitching hairy upper lip.

“Oh my! What a smart cookie we have here!”

Claire’s jaw tried to fall even further, but it couldn’t. Instead, the movement was transferred to her nearly falling off the top step, next to the stairs.

She was surprised that she didn’t hear fearful or rage-filled screaming next.

Instead, it was a deathly silence. Irina was certainly a hero, but the lack of noise was worrying.

She’d told her to stay where she was, but maybe she should go down? The baker didn’t deserve any negative treatment that came off the back of this.

“I see how it is, then,” Ekaterina probably nodded before she began to pace again. “I’m not afraid of your words, cyka. I’ll tear this place inside-out if I so choose, and you won’t be able to do a single, damned thing!”

Claire bit the inside of her lip. Ekaterina might not have had that much of an imagination, but she never made threats she didn’t intend to carry out. But Irina probably knew that already. She seemed to know everything else, probably from offering food to so many starving orphans.

“I’d like to see you try,” said Irina, “And be very careful with what you reply, because reporting you to the authorities is still a possibility.”

Again, there was a deathly silence. Ekaterina knew just as well as Irina that she would be in big trouble if the Soviet authorities found out about the way she mistreated the children.

Ekaterina released a loud huff.

“Game on, cyka,” growled the poor excuse of a matron.

A sudden loud noise made C.C. jump – it sounded like glass had just shattered. And indeed, Ekaterina had pushed to the floor a beautiful glass dome along with the buttercream cake it had been covering.

This, C.C. knew, was a declaration of war...

But it was a very calm one when it came.

Irina must have made some move – some defensive and yet defiant move. Claire imagined her folding her arms.

“Your newfound attempt to ruin my livelihood will be for a short run,” Irina said. “I can always make more cakes, you can’t make the children like you.”

No, thought Claire. She really couldn’t. The woman was just unlikeable - she’d been cruel to everyone, hurt as many as she could, and didn’t feel even the slightest bit bad!

She deserved it. Everything that came to her would be earned.

If someone came to take Ekaterina away, Claire wouldn’t even blink. She’d be more concerned about what was right.

And replacing the despot in a worn (somehow, even though it had never been used) apron seemed like a better idea than trying to convince one of anything.

Though the authorities would have one heck of a good go at convincing Ekaterina that she was wrong. Probably under a charge like “damaging the property of the state” or something, but still.

Claire might not have remembered the Revolution herself, but she knew about the people who’d replaced the royal family. They were tough on everyone, and dealt out punishments for even the slightest offence.

And this was more than the slightest offence. So even if Irina had said she didn’t need their help, the thought of Ekaterina being arrested and sent off to Siberia was...satisfying.

And now it felt like the atmosphere had shifted. She heard someone fetch the broom that Irina always kept in the corner of the store.

“Now, are you going to let me clean up in peace, before I open the store?” the baker asked. “Or are you going to stay and insist on looking for a young woman that I’ve already told you isn’t here?”

Ekaterina spat on the floor as an answer. Claire didn't see her leave, but the dinging of the bell over the door signalled her departure.

“Don’t come on down just yet,” Irina said called out to Claire, “She is still outside and I don’t want her to see you.”

Claire wanted to protest; if it weren’t for her, Ekaterina wouldn’t have come to make any threats or break anything inside the store. But she also knew that despite her warm and kind demeanour, Irina didn’t like being contradicted. So she returned to the chair where she’d been sat, and finished her honey cake.

Luckily, Irina was back upstairs in no time, looking just as happy and relaxed as always.

“That was a nasty pest to get rid of,” joked the baker, taking a sip of her tea – somehow, Claire noticed when Irina took hold of her cup, her tea was still warm…

But she shook it off. Irina had always done little odd things like that – her house always being spotless and never needing repairing, food and drink and practically anything else she needed for someone always being perfect, and even the local dogs and cats acted differently around her, wanting her to play all the time and rubbing themselves against her!

The odd was practically her normal, so it was hard to question after a certain amount of time. Claire could only put it down to Irina being the closest thing to an angel that the world had.

She was certainly acting like one, looking the girl over with no small amount of concern.

“Did you like the cake?” she asked, sipping her tea as Claire nodded. “It’s always been one of my favourites, too.”

The baker replaced her cup on her saucer, and peered at Claire more closely.

Claire froze, unsure of what was going on.

“When was the last time that ghastly woman allowed you to take a bath?” the baker asked. “A proper one, not one of those three minute cold wash things.”

Claire didn’t remember any other kind of bath. Ekaterina didn’t like spending time heating water to let the children wash properly, much in the same fashion as she didn’t like heating the orphanage to let them not freeze overnight. She almost had an aversion to heat of any kind, and avoided it wherever she could.

She explained all of this to Irina, who listened intently and waited for Claire to finish before speaking.

“Well, in this house we rely on warmth, in more ways than one,” she said, rising from the table and starting to gather the cups and saucers back onto the tray. “And we also rely on baths. Would you like me to run yours? It wouldn’t be any trouble.”

Claire did like that idea, very much. And while Irina got started on the bath, she ordered the girl to go into her room and pick some of her old clothes to wear, when she got out.

Claire did as she was told, and soon she was set up in the most wonderful and perfectly warm bath she felt like she’d ever had. It cleaned the dirt and grime from her body, brought the shine back to her hair, and made her feel less greasy and uncomfortable than she had felt in… well, ever, probably!

When she got out, she slipped into the new dress and stockings (it didn’t matter if they were all technically hand-me-downs, they felt so new!), put on Irina’s old coat and wrapped a warm knitted scarf around her neck. Irina had also provided her with a pair of brand new leather boots – Claire´s old pair was weathered and falling apart; the leather had cracked and was stained with years’ worth of grime, dirt and even blood.

Eventually, after untangling her hair, she returned to the kitchen area, where she found Irina sat back at the table.

At the table, with a large bag. And… a lot of Rubles on the table surface.

“Ah, you are looking much better!” Irina said, getting to her feet and looking at Claire appreciatively. “Sometimes a good bath is all that we need to look and feel better!”

Claire couldn’t help but agree. Getting the dirt off her body had made her feel happy, refreshed, even... pretty.

She was actually feeling pretty for the first time in her life. Or at least for the first time since she could remember.

“Would you like me to braid your hair before you go?” asked the baker.

“Go...?” C.C. repeated, a lump starting to form in her throat – was... was Irina _kicking her out_ already? Was it because of what Ekaterina had done to her shop? She didn’t want to go... least because of her life-long bully!

In there... in there she felt the most at home she’d felt in years...

“It’s not your fault, sweetheart,” Irina was quick to clarify; somehow (maybe because of the look in her eyes) the baker knew she was feeling guilty. “But you cannot stay. Not because I don’t want you – I’d have loved to give you a job – but because, if Ekaterina finds you, she will take you back to the orphanage, and there is nothing I can do to avoid that while you are still a minor.”

Oh. That was something that Claire hadn’t thought about. If Ekaterina saw that she was still there, she could complain to the authorities.

And as Claire was still underage, she could legally take her back. Irina might even get into trouble. And that was the last thing Claire wanted, after all the mess she’d already caused!

She had to go, didn’t she?

“That is why I am sending you to my cousin, in St Petersburg,” Irina continued. “She can give you a position, and no one will know that you are not eighteen.”

She finished that sentence with a wink, and pushed the bag towards her.

“I’ve given you everything you’ll need for the journey, plus a little note for my cousin, explaining the situation.”

She then proceeded to store the money she’d placed on the table inside a little hemp sack, which she stored inside Claire’s larger leather bag.

“Here,” Irina said, gesturing at the baggage, “There is food and water inside as well as cutlery and a hairbrush. It will last you for about a week, but I trust you’ll be in Petersburg way before that.”

Claire’s eyes were glued to Irina. She was frozen in place. Incapable of making the faintest of movements. You’d have had to look closely to realise that she was still actually breathing.

It wasn’t the bag full of provisions. It wasn’t the new clothes. It wasn’t the bath or even the honey cake.

It was the money.

She... she’d never seen so much money in her whole life! Irina had to have put over a thousand rubles inside that sack! Was... was she really giving them away? To _her?_ How could she repay her?!

“I...I don’t know what to say...”

Irina shook her head, “Don’t worry about saying anything, dearie. Just go out there and find what you’re looking for.”

There was a pause then, and Irina then gave her a smile that Claire couldn’t quite determine, feelings-wise. It was knowing, and pleased, and had a hint of something else that she couldn’t quite place.

But it made her feel good.

“You know,” Irina started up again. “I think I can see your future in St Petersburg.”

Claire’s eyes snapped up to her from the bag, which she’d finally taken to hold and look at.

A future in St Petersburg sounded...far more promising than any other she’d ever been offered.

And if Irina said she could see it, it had to be true. The baker was never wrong!

She clutched the bag to her, overcome with emotion, and threw her arms around Irina.

“Thank you,” she nearly burst into happy tears against her shoulder. “For everything...!”

Irina chuckled, and briefly hugged her back, before releasing her.

“You are most welcome, my girl,” she smiled back. “Now, go out there and make your way!”

Claire intended to. She might not know who she was, but this was the first step to finding out. And she was starting life by herself, which was its own rite of passage!

If only she had parents to see her off...

But she couldn’t stop to think about that. St Petersburg awaited her, and the life that Irina had promised was waiting.

With another hug and a promise to write, she was out the door into the mid-morning weather. It might have started snowing again, but she barely felt a thing in her new coat, boots and scarf.

It would definitely keep her all the way to St Petersburg.

Irina watched her go from the bakery door, and she eyed the two ghostly figures from time to time. They seemed to be reluctant to leave, and were whispering together.

It had taken Irina only a second of Claire being in the shop to realise who these figures were. They’d walked in with the girl, but she’d been unaware of their presence. Then again, most mortals are oblivious to the dead around them. Irina knew who they’d been in life (apart from the girl’s parents, of course) but seeing them in person was different to seeing a newspaper clipping or the heads side of a coin.

And they needed another opinion on what they were currently doing.

“Aren’t you going to follow her?” she suggested loudly.

It caused them both to start, the woman giving a yelp, and the man put his arms around his wife.

The Tsar and Tsarina of Russia themselves. She should have guessed it, what with their little lost girl living in the orphanage just down the street!

The little princess that Irina had made it a sort of mission to watch over. Being a witch, her power wasn’t limited if she didn’t want it to be, and the girl had been in need of a friend.

But she couldn’t make it obvious, obviously. Her true nature simply couldn’t be revealed to just about anyone, otherwise she’d practically be asking for trouble. No, she liked things just as they were – she kept her magic hidden behind the façade of a kindly old baker, and helped those in need. And Grand Duchess Chastity-Claire had certainly been in need of her help. The princess didn’t remember it, but she’d been the one to find her wandering the streets, calling for her parents. She’d cleaned her up and sent her to live at the orphanage; she’d been grossly unaware of Ekaterina’s true nature at the time.

Still, her instincts hadn’t been entirely out of tune. Irina remembered sensing there was something off about the orphanage so, in order to keep an eye on the girl, she’d quickly settled in the village in the guise of an old baker. She’d taken care of C.C. ever since.

She liked to think she was the girl’s unofficial guardian.

Given the fact that the Soviets were still chasing royals out of Russia (or, in many cases, murdering them), Irina had thought it wiser to keep Claire in the dark about her true identity. She knew the girl like the back of her hand; Claire would have set out for Paris ages ago had she known who she really was, and gotten herself killed in the process.

Everything in this (or any other) world has its time. And C.C.’s was only just arriving.

She’d meant it when she’d told Claire that her future was in St Petersburg. Fate awaited for her in the shape of a young bright-eyed man.

Not that she was planning on telling her (or her parents) any of this.

This, she knew, was only for her to know and for them to discover. 

“You can see us...” the Tsar said, apparently confused.

Irina’s mouth formed a line again, “Well, yes. But I’d rather not. Your daughter just left, you see. And you have more business following her than staying. Especially as she will soon be out of sight...”

Both the couple exchanged a look like she had a point, which Irina knew she did.

They then began to smile and nod at one another, heading for the shop door.

But they paused as they went by her, the Tsarina reaching out to her as if they could touch her.

“If we were alive, you would be rewarded so well...!”

Irina gave a small curtsy in return, showing them the respect they deserved both as royalty and as the dead, and then it was time to watch them leave. They turned the same corner that Chastity-Claire, the little lost princess of whom everyone had spoken for years, had, and were then at last gone from sight.

Soon after that, Irina finally swapped her shop’s sign from “ _Closed_ ” to “ _Open_ ”, and started to welcome her first customers of the day.


	3. Chapter 3

**_ Chapter 3 _ **

 

**Leningrad**

**Soviet Russia**

**February 1923**

 

This was it, Claire thought to herself. This was what Irina had been talking about.

For the two and a bit months that she’d been living and working there, St Petersburg had felt like the breath of fresh air that she’d needed. Her new job with Irina’s cousin not only gave her both a sense of purpose and structure, but also came with a comfortable room (the best she ever remembered having) and a wage that she kept safe in her bag.

Not having to share either of those things with anyone felt so good.

What also felt good were the meals provided by Irina’s cousin, Galina. They were just as delicious as Irina’s, and came with the added benefit of being regular. Galina had said it was good to see a skinny little thing starting to put more meat on her bones (especially, she said, if she was only just under a month away from turning eighteen) – something Irina had often commented on.

It was almost strange how much the two bakers resembled each other, though. The way they talked, walked...even some of their little mannerisms, like tutting!

Claire put it down to them growing up close together. She wished that she had someone as close to her as a sister...

Well, for all she knew, she did. It might have been a sister waiting for her in Paris!

And the French capital rarely completely left her mind. It was her goal, and getting enough money to go was her incentive to work hard – she got up early to stoke the fires for the ovens, and then she took deliveries out over the city for most of the day.

More often than not, she took Galina’s dog Chester along as well. The little Pomeranian seemed to enjoy riding on the back of the bike, while the cakes and pastries balanced in the basket at the front.

And that was how Claire found herself that particular morning, as she rode past the old palace where the Imperial Family used to live.

Claire had gone past the derelict Imperial palace many times since arriving at St Petersburg, but she’d never loitered at its gates for long. Something about it made her terribly uneasy, almost as if there was some monster hiding in there, waiting to pounce on her.

But at the same time...

Oh, how she itched to go in and take a peek!

She knew it was supposed to be forbidden, but she’d seen people coming in and out before. Most of them were squatters, looking for a roof to put over their heads on cold winter evenings. Once or twice she’d seen small groups of women – all of them fair haired, with sharp features and full lips – trudging through the snow on their way out.

There was nothing of value left inside the palace anymore. The Revolution had stolen aristocracy of its privilege, and whatever jewels or valuable item that had been found, had either been pilfered to sell in the black market, or destroyed. She wasn’t interested in taking anything that didn’t belong to her, at any rate – her fascination with the palace had been born of a dream.

Or better said, a nightmare.

A memory, perhaps?

It was hard to tell. All she remembered of it were flashes – a lot of noise, some gunfire...a warm hand pulling her along through a tunnel into the cold street...

Whose hand, though?

She looked at the outline of the palace. There must have been lots of tunnels in that place that only staff knew about. That was probably how they’d gotten out – through the kitchens or a basement or something, into a side street.

And again, it left her at the same conclusion.

Servants. They must have been servants.

Maybe the necklace wasn’t even hers? She didn’t recall getting it. Maybe it was supposed to belong to one of the deceased princesses, and someone had put it on her to make sure it got out of the palace?

Maybe she wasn’t the adored girl the person in Paris was waiting for? Maybe she’d turn up expecting a family, and find only a confused stranger, wondering where their loved one was?

Who knew? All she could do was...

 _… follow Chester_ , who had jumped down from the back of the bike and was bolting towards the palace!

Trust the little mutt to do something as reckless as this!

Leaving the bike tied to the fencepost with the pastries covered over (it would be a miracle if they were there when she got back), she took off after him, calling his name in a hushed voice – it was technically illegal to step foot inside the former tsar’s home.

“Chester! Chester, get back here!” she had to pause and catch her breath, before continuing with a groan. “Stupid dog! Chester!”

But the little dog didn’t listen. He had spotted an open door, and he had the kind of determination about him that was usually reserved for someone at least five times his size. He used his tiny snout to nose his way in, making the gap large enough for his body to get through and his fur to file in accordingly as the actual dog trotted into the building.

Claire wasn’t far behind, though. She grabbed the door handle and pulled, peering around into the gloom for any sign of the dog.

“Chester?” she called out, wanting to groan again. Galina was going to kill her, and it would be worse than if it was from Ekaterina because Galina would kill her with her disappointment. “Chester, come on! We’ve gotta go!”

She was answered by a tiny bark, far down the corridor.

Sighing, Claire went to it. She kept an ear out for the sound of tiny claws on old, echoing wood floors, and as she went she gazed around the place.

A lot of the damaged paintings – old landscapes and long dead royals – still littered the place. She supposed most of them had been damaged the night the Revolutionaries had forced their way in. She knew a lot of the artworks that had once belonged to the Romanovs had been stolen, but it was evident that not all of them had.

Although she did see more bullet holes and splashes of dried blood than practically untouched (if a little torn) landscapes.

Looking at them made her feel odd. Like she’d seen them when they were still in perfect condition and the corridor was full of sunlight, not boarded up windows and discoloured patches on the wall where pieces of other people’s lives had sat.

Her Mama must have been a maid, and had taken her around the palace as she’d cleaned. Early in the morning, probably, before the royal children got up and she got some playtime to herself...

That was it, that must have been what she was remembering.

She had to shake herself away from the empty walls. There wasn’t anything there anymore, and even if her parents had been somewhere around there in the past, there wouldn’t be any more trace of them.

Servants weren’t important enough for that.

So she refocused her efforts on finding Chester. Galina might not like her going into the palace when it was usually filled with all kinds off the street, but to get her dog back, it had to be done.

And she could hear him, at any rate, just ahead of her through a set of large, worn (and once ornate) doors...

She crept along softly, hoping he was just the other side so that she could take him by surprise.

But when she burst through (her cry of “Aha!” and scooping up air now feeling redundant and a little embarrassing), she was surprised to find herself in a much larger place than she’d expected.

It was a ballroom. A fine ballroom, with floors that would have been polished until they shone, and had a glistening chandelier, and people dancing long into the night...

People she could almost imagine, if she tried hard enough. Princes in fine coats, Princesses in flowing dresses, all caught up in the rhythm of the fine orchestra...

They twirled and spun in her head, until Claire started spinning, too. And she kept going, until she almost crashed into the remains of the fallen chandelier, stripped of its precious metals and stones.

For some reason, a vivid memory of that very same chandelier hovering over her, alight with a thousand candles and jewels glittering nicely in the warm light, surfaced in her mind.

The Great Hall (why did she feel that was the room’s name?) seemed to somehow reverberate with the echo of a ghostly music. A music that had been played inside those walls, but that had died alongside its last occupants. Claire had to close her eyes in an attempt to have the strange sense of déjà vu disappear, but the moment she opened them again, she found herself in the middle of a wonderful ball.

The enormous room was packed with beautiful men and women, all clad in exquisite gowns and suits. The women all wore dresses made of rich fabrics, embroidered with pearls and threaded with gold or silver. Their jewels and dazzling kokoshnik tiaras only completed their outfits.

But no outfit shone more than that of who Claire could only suppose was the Tsarina.

She was... utterly gorgeous.

Her dress, made of cloth of silver and decorated with diamonds and sapphires, flowed nicely as she danced the night away; C.C. was impressed that she could balance her massive imperial crown (made of pearls and diamonds) while dancing!

It was a fantastic sight to behold, and Claire felt a sense of...warmth? Welcome? Maybe the Tsarina had overseen her parents’ hiring, and had been nice to them? Maybe she remembered the Tsarina being nice to her as well?

Perhaps she’d been allowed to stay up, and help out at balls?

And that had been the night that it had all happened...

It made her hurt to think of it, although she wasn’t sure why.

And it hurt even more when the Tsar came into view. They must have been good employers, and treated her parents well.

Though the longer she looked at the Tsar’s face, the more she had an urge to cry...

The way he was smiling at his wife... Claire felt like she’d seen that look before, but directed...

... directed at her.

But it was ridiculous! It had to be ridiculous! Right?! Why would the Tsar of all Russia give her so much as a second of his time? Much less smile at her as if she were the most wonderful treasure in the entire world.

But still... there was something painfully familiar about him, and it was breaking her heart in half.

Claire stood there, entranced, just looking at the Emperor and the Empress dance, and eventually both of them looked in her direction and smiled warmly at her – smiled as if they were expecting her. They glided to her, their smiles growing brighter, and C.C. growing smaller. She... she was a girl again! And the Tsar... he was inviting her to take his hands and dance...

Dance on his shoe-

“Hey, you!”

Claire opened her eyes.

Huh? Since when had they been shut...?

The ballroom was back to its state of decay – the chandelier was still smashed on the floor, the curtains that remained were all ripped and torn...there were no dancing nobles.

Especially not a smiling couple, who looked at her as though she was the most welcome sight on the planet.

But there was another person there.

A young man, a few years older than she was, with sandy blonde hair and bright blue eyes.

And he was staring at her, far too close.

With a yelp of fright, Claire leapt backwards. She’d heard about what young men could do to women – often wanted to do to women – if they were alone, but she knew how to defend herself.

What she hadn’t learned from growing up in an orphanage, she’d discovered while working. A kick in the crotch was just as good as poking a man in both his eyes, as long as it got you out of there.

That was what Galina had said. Luckily she’d never had to use either so far.

But all of that might have been about to change.

At least, if the man hadn’t thrown up his hands in defence and had started to back off.

That...wasn’t the reaction she’d been expecting...

But it gave her time to straighten herself up. She was still on the defensive, but now at least part of her thought that she didn’t have to be, quite so much. The man was certainly not making any advances on her. Not even the lurid kind that most young men did these days, when she cycled past them...

“Forgive me,” he said instead, and gave a low bow. “I had not meant to do so, I was just...startled by someone else being here...”

Claire narrowed her eyes, “You’re telling me.”

Her slightly abrupt answer, born out of fear and suspicion, seemed to surprise him.

But he didn’t get the opportunity to answer back before Claire continued.

The comment seemed to bother the young man, but he hid his annoyance under a complacent smile.

“I used to live here back in the day,” he replied matter-of-factly, an air of self-importance about him that irked Claire to no end.

Claire scoffed at the man, folding her arms over her chest. He had the gift of gab alright, but did he really thought her to be that stupid? She knew his type – they were all charm and smiles, but the moment they got what they wanted, they left you out in the cold without giving it a second thought.

Well, if he thought she was some naive gullible girl, he had another thing coming!

“Oh _really_?” she said, a hint of sarcasm showing in her words. “What kind of servant were you then?”

That really made his face fall, and Claire was delighted.

“Oh, come on – you didn’t think I was gonna mistake you for a Romanov, did you?” she continued amusedly, folding her arms. “You’d’ve been found out by now, especially coming right back to the old palace...”

She began to pace, feeling like she had some kind of upper hand.

He was actually looking fairly annoyed at her in return. And she didn’t know what it was, but for some reason she enjoyed that very much.

“Well...so what if I’m not entirely a Romanov? I still lived here,” the man argued back, slightly pathetically. “I often conversed with the great Dowager Empress herself, and had the great fortune of setting my eyes upon the Grand Duchess Chastity-Claire...”

Claire looked at him in confusion as he trailed off, trying very hard to sound impressive (but falling very short).

“Who’s that?” she asked.

The stranger blinked back at her, a hint of nervous laughter in his throat, “Who’s who?”

“The ‘Grand Duchess Chastity-Claire’ that you just mentioned,” Claire answered.

She’d never heard of that princess. She was going to ask if it was an attempt at trying to impress her (it was, admittedly, creative – considering most men just settled for yelling about how large their private parts were).

But his face became just as confused as hers before she could.

“The Grand Duchess Chas...” he trailed off, cocking his head to one side. “You _don’t know_?”

The way he said it was definitely real shock, that much Claire could tell.

There must really have been a princess with that name, and she didn’t remember...

So she shook her head, pointing awkwardly to the back of her skull, “I, uh...had an accident as a child. I hit my head, and it’s kind of...messed with my memory.”

The man’s face took on a look of understanding.

“Oh...!”

He then pursed his lips as he looked around the room. Claire followed his eyes, until he seemed to have found what he wanted.

“Ah, there it is! There’s a portrait of her just over here,” he beckoned for her to follow as he walked off. “Come on, I’ll point her out.”

Claire hesitated, but went. She stayed a good distance behind him all the way, though.

And soon, they were stood in front of an enormous painting of the royal family. And, right at the front, was a little blonde girl no older than ten that Claire never remembered seeing before.

Even if she did look familiar...

The man looked between her and the portrait. And again. Several times.

And each time he looked, the deeper it sank in.

This woman was almost a complete grownup replica of the little Grand Duchess! They had the same hair, the same eyes, the same jawline (though the child’s looked fatter – both due to her young age and to much a heartier diet).

And it struck him. He’d been looking for a replica Grand Duchess to fob off on the Dowager Empress in exchange for her reward (ten million rubles to anyone who found her granddaughter) for so long now! And this strange, slightly confused woman was his chance!

“She was the youngest daughter of the last Tsar,” explained the man, coming closer to Claire, eyes focused on her face. “Barely a girl when the Revolution broke out, but somehow she escaped...”

Claire wasn’t sure that she liked how close he was. It was one thing to be telling her all about this princess she’d never heard of, but if he could do it from at least a couple of feet away, she might feel better about it...

Could he stop staring at her like that?! It was so intense, it was almost like he wanted to-

“Niles! I’m back!”

The nasal voice was kind of a relief, even though up close Claire was certain it would grate (it didn’t so much echo around the room as ring). But it meant that the man – clearly Niles, if the addresser had been speaking to him – turned away from Claire and towards the stairs.

They were joined by a thin brunette woman, carrying what was probably a paper bag full of groceries, and wearing the biggest beaming smile as Chester, finally deciding to show himself, trotted down alongside her.

“Ah, Miss Fineova!” Niles grinned back and brought his hands together in a loud clap. “I have some exciting news!”

Claire pointed to Chester, “And she has my dog...!”

The woman called Miss Fineova looked both surprised and happy.

“Oh, is ‘e yours?” she asked, coming forward so the dog would move as well. “I found him wanderin’ around upstairs, I was afraid he was lost all by himself...!”

The little dog woofed happily. Claire knew that he would never get lost – even if he didn’t know where he was, the Pomeranian had too much self-confidence to do anything other than what he liked, and that included going places without a care in the world.

Not that Niles appeared to be concerned with that.

He’d hurried over to Miss Fineova, and placed his hands on her shoulders.

“Forget about the dog for a moment,” he told her excitedly. “I think I might’ve found her!”

Miss Fineova looked at him in shock which quickly became awe, which quickly mirrored Niles’ own expression.

“Ya think so?!”

“I do think so,” Niles patted her shoulders, and they both looked over his shoulder at Claire.

She only stood there in return, not quite understanding what they meant.

“Who have you found?”

Niles very nearly laughed, the question was so innocent. Depending on how she took to the idea he was about to suggest, he might have to alter the plan because of it.

“Why, the Grand Duchess Chastity-Claire, of course!” he cried out, throwing his arms wide briefly before moving to grab her hands. “What do you remember? You said you hit your head, but you must have an earliest memory – what is it?”

All of that information at once overwhelmed Claire, and she tried to step away and take her hands back.

“I don’t know!” she shook her head. “It was a long time ago, and I was raised in an orphanage that most who grew up there would want to forget!”

“But how old were you when you landed at the orphanage?” asked Niles, his light-blue eyes glinting (Claire was still too naive to realise that the spark in his eyes, was greed). “You weren’t there all your life, were you?”

Claire’s brows knitted together into an unsure furrow. The man... she didn’t like the way this young man was talking to her. And she certainly disliked his over enthusiastic way of addressing her! Part of her wanted to turn and leave – by now a trip back to the bakery was certain; she was sure none of the treats were still in the basket when half St Petersburg was starving – but at the same time...

She’d be lucky if the bike was still there, if she was honest.

She took another step away from him, and clicked her fingers for Chester to come to her. The dog, annoyingly, seemed to consider not moving. It was like the thought they had a purpose there.

He probably just liked Miss Fineova.

But he could like her from afar. The part telling her to go was growing.

“I got there when I was twelve, okay?” she answered. “Or thereabouts, anyway. I only just remember my own birthday...”

But not the people who’d given it to her, she thought bitterly.

Twelve, Niles thought. It could work – the Grand Duchess had been about twelve when she’d disappeared...

This was an opportunity that was too good to pass up. If he got a few more answers out of her, they could really set something up! It could be like something out of a fairy tale. A young princess, loved and adored, is tragically separated from her family when disaster strikes. She is sent to a cold and unfeeling orphanage, beaten and starved, and made to work until she is either kicked out or runs away. And then, she meets someone (a rather _dashing_ someone) who recognises her, and who vows to try and return her to her family. She gets them back, he gets the reward money that he then shares with his cohort. Everyone wins, and they all live happily ever after.

Of course, he had to say something to make sure she didn’t leave before he could explain all of this!

He was just about to reach out and tell her how sorry he was for her ordeal, but Miss Fineova came forward, her sympathetic instincts taking over.

“Oh, honey...!” she cried out, at the girl’s side in an instant with her hands on her shoulders. “I’m so sorry! I can’t even imagine how ya feel about all o’ that!”

No, she really couldn’t, Claire thought. She barely knew herself – it was too many feelings all at once.

Sadness. Fear. Sometimes a burning sense of unfairness and injustice that she didn’t quite understand...

But the woman – Miss Fineova – was trying her hardest, anyway. She looked a nice person, despite her dilapidated surroundings and the man with her that Claire supposed had to count as company on a technicality.

And when Claire lowered her eyes to the floor, she took it as sadness at the statement presented.

“What’s yer name, sweetie?”

“Claire.”

She thought she heard Niles take in some kind of half-gasped-half-choked breath behind her, but she didn’t ask about it. She had a feeling he was going to explain anyway.

“It’s like this was fated to happen!” he exclaimed softly, clasping his hands. “What a glorious day!”

Fran, who had quickly caught up with Niles’s thought process, looked between the girl and the portrait of the lost Grand Duchess – they were practically clones! Not only that, but they also shared at least one of their names and had the same age.

This was a gift from fate!

But judging by the unsure look on the girl’s face, Niles and Fran were quick to realise they had to tread with care. They didn’t want to scare off their ticket out of Russia and into a life of riches.

“Miss Claire,” Fran said, sliding her arm around the girl’s shoulders, “what do you remember before the orphanage? Why are you here now?”

Claire, despite knowing she should be running for the hills rather than talking to these two strangers, couldn’t help but snuggle a little into Miss Fineova’s embrace.

No one had held her like that in so long...

And somehow, that was enough for Claire to start talking.

“I... I don’t really know,” she said, “I remember... feelings, rather than concise events. I remember fear, and heartbreak and death...”

Gunshot deaths. So many of them...

Just the thought of that was starting to choke Claire up.

“I think...I think that my parents were there,” she told them as Miss Fineova escorted her to the one piece of furniture in the room that wasn’t ruined - an old, worn couch. “The night that the Tsar was...”

It hurt to say “murdered”, even though that was the word that came to mind. She let a sniff come out, a slight mist coming over her eyes.

Miss Fineova saw, and pulled her into more of a hug.

“Oh, sweetie!” she rubbed her back. “Let it all out, yer with friends...”

Friends. Even at the orphanage, apartment from Irina, she wouldn’t have ever said she’d really had friends. The other orphans had been allies, yes, but...well, friends were a luxury you couldn’t entirely afford when a place at the dinner table and food was on the line.

And maybe...maybe they could help? If they knew at least a little more about the royal family than she did, then maybe they’d know something about the servants, too? Niles had said he’d lived there – maybe he remembered a little girl following a maid around?

The feeling of hope caused the tears to come.

“I...I just want to know who I am!”

Fran held the girl close and wrapped her in a tight hug, letting her bury her face in the crook of her neck. She rubbed her back as she cried, genuinely touched by her pain.

She was still going to try and convince her to go to Paris, not to get her wrong, but maybe it would also be good for this young girl – they would get the money, and Claire would get a family. She didn’t really mind where she came from; if it made the Dowager and the girl happy, then Claire’s true identity could remain lost to the ages and it wouldn’t matter.

Niles, however, was a little less... _understanding_. He was visibly unnerved – it was her crying. She hated hearing people cry around him. Fran, upon noticing the look on his face, gave him a warning glare.

It soon made his expression soften, and with a sigh that was easily disguised as one of sadness at her predicament, he knelt on the floor in front of her.

“I think that we...might be able to assist in this matter.”

It made the girl slow her crying, anyway. She angled her head more so that she could peer at him through tear-stained eyes.

She sniffed again, and wiped some golden strands of hair out of her face.

“You...you will?”

Niles offered her a smile, thinking better of chancing patting her on the knee.

“Of course we will,” he told her. “Now, to start off with, can you maybe, um...describe who you feel your parents might have been? To narrow it down at all?”

Claire thought about everything she had concluded in her head. She never felt she’d get the chance to explain it to anyone...

“I...they must’ve been servants. A-A maid and a valet, or something like that...”

A maid and a valet, or something like that!

She should have been thinking far higher than that. Wasn’t the solution her mind was clearly avoiding something that young women thought about on a regular basis? Not that he was going to say such a thing aloud. He’d get another look from Fran, and he was certain he didn’t need two of those looks in the same day.

But he knew a way around the issue, without winding anyone up. It was something he remembered himself, and his own memory was perfect.

“Well, Miss...I can certainly inform you that no servant in the house was married to another, and there were no young children taken in,” he said, before making his expression more knowing. “Most of the children – five out of the six – belonged to the Tsar.”

“And was I the sixth child?” asked Claire, a glimmer of hope in her teary eyes.

Niles shook his head.

“I am afraid not, Miss Claire, the sixth child was myself,” Niles said.

Claire’s face fell.

Had... had she been wrong? Had every single thing she’d believed about her family been wrong? Perhaps... perhaps she’d only dreamed about being at the palace. Perhaps she was just a lost girl, who had never stepped foot inside the Winter Palace, nor met the Tsar and the Tsarina of Russia.

Maybe she should stop trying to unravel a past that was so stubborn in its desire to remain enshrouded in shadows.

“Oh...” spoke C.C. softly, pulling away from Fran. She had to get going. She had work to do. Even if she now was unsure about there being someone waiting for her in Paris at all. “I see...”

“However,” continues the young man, moving to stand in front of Claire, so she wouldn’t stand up to leave, “I still think I saw you around...”

Fran and Niles exchanged a look.

They were going through with this.

“... _Your Imperial Highness_.”

At first, Claire wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. But it slowly sank in that he wasn’t saying anything else, he was just letting her take in what he’d said.

Imperial Highness...

He thought she was...a _Grand Duchess_?! This missing one that they’d pointed out to her in the painting?! Why did they think so? What evidence apart from a few coincidences did they have?

She wasn’t special. She was just little Claire, orphan and amnesiac, who’d managed to get out and find work at a bakery.

It was all so ridiculous, she had to laugh a little bit about it.

“What are you talking about?” she shook her head. “I’m not–”

“Think about it harder, my lady,” Niles insisted, sensing disbelief. “Think about how the facts have to add up!”

"Yeah!" Fran supported her friend and associate, "Ya two have the same age, ya remember the palace and being a child here, you look exactly the same..."

"Frankly, this cannot be a coincidence!" Niles said, coming closer to Claire. They had planted doubt in the girl's heart, and they both knew it.

Perfect.

She’d be willing to follow whatever they said in no time at all. They’d coach her on everything she needed to know, they’d take her to Paris and collect their reward money.

Everyone would win, even if it wasn’t exactly entirely the truth.

Claire, meanwhile, was feeling a tingling numbness coming over her.

Princess...they were saying she was a princess, and the evidence added up! She couldn’t deny that it all made sense, even though she couldn’t believe it!

It had to be true. Didn’t it?

“No...it can’t be a coincidence, can it?” she said, more to herself than to them.

She didn’t notice Niles and Fran exchange a look of triumph.

They had her, that was certain.

“Not at all, Your Highness,” said Niles with a flourished bow, “You are, without the shadow of a doubt, the Grand Duchess Chastity-Claire.”

Claire – or was it Chastity-Claire now? – felt weak in the knees. For years she’d dreamed of having a loving home and a warm family to return to. She’d fantasised about finding them and holding them close...

But now... now she knew that wasn’t possible.

They’d all been murdered. All of them. She’d recovered a family only to lose it again!

She closed her eyes and buried her face in her hands. She began to make sense of some... memories?... loose fragments of her dreams – fire, gunshots, the sense of loss...

Had she... had she watched them die? Her mind wouldn’t surrender much information, but deep within she felt she had.

And somehow she’d survived.

Tears, this time born of sorrow, trickled down her cheeks, and her frail body shook with loud sobs.

Niles and Fran were struck with a kind of confused panic that they hadn’t expected. The girl had just been told that she was a princess and she was crying?! That wasn’t the reaction that most people would have!

“Sweetie, what’s with the tears...?” Fran asked, moving to hold her again if she had to. “This is a happy moment!”

“Yes,” Niles agreed, clutching at his own hands. “You’re a princess, there is nothing to be upset about with that!”

Claire shook her head, “You don’t understand!”

Niles blinked, “Begging your pardon, Your Imperial Highness, but what is there to not understand?”

“My family is dead!” Claire screamed. “The Romanovs were wiped out, which makes me the last! I’ve waited my whole life for a family and the minute I have one, it’s taken away from me! What the hell do I have to be happy about?!”

She had nothing. What was the use in being told you had a family if they were all dead and you’d never meet them? It was about the same use as being the princess of a country that didn’t have a monarchy anymore.

She didn’t see the look Niles and Fran gave each other, before he answered.

“But you do have family, Your Imperial Highness!”

That seemed to partially stop Claire’s crying. What did they mean? If they were about to give her that crap about her family living in her heart she might just as well leave. She had no interest in supposing that she’d been loved. She had no use for a family she couldn’t even remember...

A family she wasn’t entirely sure was hers.

Still, thinking of the Tsar’s – her father’s? – face or looking at his painting... hurt. And she couldn’t quite explain why.

“What do you mean?” she asked, wiping away her tears.

Niles and Fran smiled at each other.

It was showtime.

“There _is_ someone waitin’ for ya,” said Fran.

“Your grandmother,” completed Niles, “The Dowager Empress Marie Feodorovna. She lives in Paris now, and has been looking for you.”

Her grandmother...was waiting for her...

_In Paris?_

She scrambled into her clothes, pulling out her pendant before Fran and Niles could wonder what she was doing. She turned it over, and read the back, even tracing it with her finger. It was real – she hadn’t imagined it, and now...now it could make sense...

“I’ve had this pendant for as long as I can remember,” she said. “It was the only thing I made sure could’ve be taken from me. The only connection to my past. And it says “Together in Paris” on the back...”

Niles and Fran both blanched.

Where had she gotten a necklace like that?! And it said Paris on it?! There was someone out there who’d made her a promise to meet her in Paris?!

Well...maybe they’d be there still, and maybe they wouldn’t be? It had been a long time, and they might not even recognise Claire. They might be able to get away with taking her to the Dowager Empress instead, and have these other people none the wiser...

That was what they’d do. They’d make sure she was introduced to Marie right away when they got to France.

Of course, she had to have a few lessons first. The main two would be elocution, to give her the proper vocabulary and mannerisms, and her ‘family’s’ history, so that she didn’t slip up or draw a blank when it came to remembering names, dates or faces. They’d have to explain that her memories had suddenly come back to her, and many were still returning. It might hold them for some of the things that she wouldn’t know, but it was better to be safe than sorry and help her revise the rest.

And they had to start as soon as possible. There wasn’t any time to be wasted.

At least, there wasn’t to Niles.

“Well, that’s all the proof needed then, isn’t it?” he asked, trying hard to conceal how eager he was. “We’d better get you prepared to meet your grandmother right away!”

Claire began to smile. Her grandmother. Her actual grandmother – a living relative, who’d been looking for her!

And if she’d given her the pendant, promising they’d be together, then she must have loved her very much...

It was exciting to think that she could know her so soon! After all that time!

But...she had to tell Galina first. She couldn’t just leave without letting the baker know where she’d gone!

Plus, she had some cakes and pastries to deliver still, and while Galina was her boss, she wasn’t planning on disappointing her. She and Irina had taken her in when no one would, and that alone deserved compensation and gratefulness.

“That... that sounds like a good idea,” said the young woman, beginning to smile a little.

“You’ll just need to have some elocution and etiquette lessons,” said Fran; she was already thinking of how she was going to spend her part of the reward – five million rubles!

“Indeed. And we’ll go over some of your family history,” added Niles, “Maybe it will help you remember a bit more of who you are.”

Claire frowned – elocution? Etiquette? Where was she going to learn that? She certainly didn’t have the money for an instructor! Nor did she have the time...

“Why?” asked the girl, moving to pick Chester up in her arms, “Can’t we just tell my grandmother that I don’t remember anything? She’ll understand, surely!”

Niles didn’t want to come off as annoyed as he answered, but it was hard not to when they were so close to getting her to agree. And she had to agree. If she didn’t, it was highly likely that the Dowager Empress would see straight through the lie, and then they’d all be out on the street.

The entire con would’ve been for nothing.

“We just want to help you make a good impression,” he managed to say smoothly. “After all, it’s been so long, a few lessons on how to behave around her might be in order. Also, it might help you to remember a few things by yourself – it’ll give you more to talk about!”

His voice got faster towards the end. He was praying she didn’t sense the change.

She seemed to be thinking about it, at any rate. He didn’t know if that was a good or a bad thing.

“Hm… alright,” Claire eventually said. “But I have to go back to my employer first, and tell her what’s happening.”

Go back to her...?

What?!

She wanted to keep working?! This would only delay their departure to Paris! Not to mention she simply couldn’t go and tell just about anyone about their (very much illegal) plan.

God... why did _she_ of all the women in Russia have to be the perfect Chastity-Claire?!

She had the looks they needed, but not the brains...

They had to start right away, and the very thought made Niles’ feet itch.

He shifted on the spot as he tried hard not to groan through his next question.

“Are you absolutely sure that you have to do that? After all, this opportunity isn’t exactly one that comes along very often!”

Claire quirked an eyebrow at him, settling Chester firmly in her arms, “Are you expecting other claimants?”

Both Niles and Fran tried not to give the impression of freezing. They didn’t say so aloud, and had no way of knowing, but their minds both gave the exact same unspoken answer to that question.

The answer was “Dear God, I hope not.”

But putting on a more cheerful front, Niles started to smile, “Of course not! There’s only one of–”

“Then our lessons and our trip to Paris can be delayed by the two hours at most it will take to get everything else done,” Claire shut him off. “I don’t even know if I’m a royal yet, so while I still don’t know I’m going to do what any other person would do and finish their job.”

Niles blinked at her. She really was a headstrong young woman, wasn’t she? From what he remembered and what he’d heard, she could easily be related to the Dowager through personality alone!

He shared a silent look with Fran. Two hours wasn’t that long, was it?

The way Claire had phrased it, they were going to have to treat it like it wasn’t a long time, whether they liked it or not.

And Fran’s replied look told him exactly the same thing. They weren’t in charge of this part, even if his cohort also appeared to be vaguely amused that Claire had told him off.

“A-Alright, then,” he conceded. “We’ll let you finish your job and then we’ll get you started on your lessons.”

Claire looked dubious, “You’re going to get me a tutor?”

“No need fer that, honey – there’s one already here!” Fran staged a curtsy. “Before the Revolution, I just so happened ta be a countess!”

She said it with such a flourish, Claire very nearly laughed. But she had to keep herself composed – the woman was doing her best to cheer her up and help her, so being rude wasn’t an option (no matter how unlikely her claim seemed).

“Oh,” she hoped she came off as surprised but happy instead. “Well, that’s wonderful!”

“Certainly is,” Niles piped up, coming to put an encouraging hand on Claire’s back. “Now, Your Imperial Highness, I do believe that you mentioned getting to work right away, and seeing your employer about leaving...?”

Claire felt him push against her back, as if he was trying to silently urge her towards the door.

Not that she needed much encouraging. If it was all true and she really was getting to see her grandmother for the first (but not really the first) time, then she wasn’t going to hang around!

Pastries and Galina, and then back for the lessons. She’d be back and ready in no time at all.

She was certain Galina would understand – this was her chance at finding her family! Of finding out who she was.

Again, she still had her doubts about the authenticity of Niles’ claim that she was Chastity-Claire, but what did she have to lose? And if she wasn’t the lost princess...

Well...

She’d still be in Paris – and someone was waiting for her in Paris.

Promising to be back later, C.C. held Chester closer to her, and scurried out of the palace, ready to complete her deliveries for the day.

Once she was out, four people remained inside the hall – two of those four, were unaware of the other’s presence.

And those two unnoticed occupants were glaring at Niles. If they’d been more powerful as ethereal beings, then Stewart would’ve suggested trying to see if a hard enough stare could kill the young man.

But he had no such ability, and as such had to take his grievances out in other fashion.

And Niles was giving him plenty of those!

“Who does this boy think he is?” he asked, both incredulous and rage-filled. “Scamming my mother, and using our daughter to do it?!”

This man was the worst type of manipulating scum; the kind who’d tell a woman she was special to him and that it was all different when he was with her, only to drop her when she was no longer convenient. Only this time it would be C.C. getting dropped, if Marie didn’t recognise her. And after so many years, it was a distinct possibility that the Dowager just wouldn’t.

It was unlikely to be the fairy-tale ending that Niles had promised their girl in bad faith.

And C.C. would be left behind, alone and broken, once again.

Only this time she would remember each detail vividly – she would remember the moment where her hopes of finding a family were obliterated. 

“Conniving little bastard...” hissed the Tsarina, folding her arms over her chest. She wanted to swat at the insolent conman, but she also knew it would be useless. He wouldn’t feel her rage or any of her blows. “Stewart we cannot let him play with our child’s feelin—”

“We did it!”

Niles’ scream of triumph interrupted B.B. mid-sentence.

“This little amnesiac fool fell right into our trap!” said the former servant gleefully.

 _Trap_. Stewart and B.B. knew it would lead to something like this!

They could only watch as the two criminals danced around the old sofa, delighting in their apparent luck at their newest find.

“Ten million rubles, Niles!”  Fran cried out. It was so loud, everyone wondered if C.C. might come running back to see what all the noise was. “We’re gonna get ten million!”

“We could, in theory, get far more than that,” Niles patted her shoulder. “Leave it to me when we get there. I’ll do all the talking. You focus on getting our little street princess ready for her grand entrance into society.”

 _Street princess_?!

If B.B. had had a physical presence, she would have slapped him for that. Or had the guards throw him out of their home for such insolence!

But she had no body. There were no guards. This wasn’t their home.

Not anymore.

And no matter if she liked it or not, this man was an opportunity to get C.C. to Paris. There was always a chance that Marie would recognise her...

But Stewart didn’t appear to be thinking about that. He was still glaring daggers at Niles for his remark.

“He’s going to regret that,” he muttered. “When he finds out...”

Well, at least that implied that he thought C.C. had a chance of getting somewhere with these two con merchants. That a little while in her presence would open their eyes, and they’d see their princess again.

They had to wait in hope, for the absence of living in it.

C.C. wouldn’t be long on her errands – she was good at working, despite the humiliation it would cause if the imperial family’s name could be tarnished anymore by such an event – so they could easily stay where they were.

They wanted to hear more about the plan that these two had, anyway. Maybe they’d figure out a way of being able to do something?

Then Niles really would regret it.

B.B. rubbed her husband’s shoulder, trying to keep him calm as well.

“I know he will, my darling. We just have to be patient.”


	4. Chapter 4

**_ Chapter 4 _ **

**Paris**

France

February 1923

“Let the girl in...”

The half-hearted command came from behind the closed doors to the Dowager Empress’ study. Over the course of five (nearly six) years, those doors had seen a legion of Chastity-Claire wannabes come through them on their way in, and then, on their way out. Most of them, when coming in, had hope; they preened themselves in the gold mirror opposite to the study, trying to look their best for what they all knew was the audience of a lifetime. But again, inevitably they all ended up scurrying out, with their tails in between their legs and the weight of shame on their shoulders.

Not one of those girls had stayed in the room for longer than ten minutes.

At the beginning, when the Dowager Empress still had the strength to do so, she’d tell off those imposters for trying to use her own personal tragedy to cheat her out of money; she’d demand that they leave immediately, and said that they ought to be ashamed of their actions.

Now…

Now she only waved them off.

She’d learnt that, sometimes, cold indifference was best.

And it was no different with the latest prospective Grand Duchess – the Empress knew it wasn’t her grandchild the moment she stepped into the study, dressed in fine clothing and wearing a disgustingly tremulous smile – a smile that wanted to give off the sense that she was anxious for this meeting, as though she’d been expecting it for more than she could possibly express with words. Classic emotional manipulation, the Dowager had seen it before.

She thought herself smart, this little trickster, but even the best grooming and acting skills couldn’t hide the fact she didn’t look like Marie’s grandchild – the real C.C.’s eyes were of a darker blue, her ears were smaller, her nose a lot less haughty and pointed, and her hair...

Her grandchild was a natural blonde, not a bleached one.

And even before this one opened her mouth, she knew how she would sound. The same kind of highly-refined, last-minute-educated woman as all the others had been. The kind who could sound the part, but had no idea how to pronounce “filet mignon” or “fois gras”, as well as other such things.

So she raised a hand to stop her from speaking.

“Before you say a word, I must cut this meeting short,” she said, turning to the attendant. “This is not her.”

The attendant nodded, but it seemed to offend the girl, who began to stagger in shoes she’d never been properly taught to wear.

“But... _Nana_!”

C.C. had always preferred “Grandmama”. Marie doubted being lost for so many years would change her mind on that.

“Please, escort this woman out,” she told her attendant.

The man began to drag and pull the woman out, who was now insisting that she stayed to be listened to.

But Marie wasn’t even listening then. She’d heard it so many times before…

Every day for almost six years. And for hours out of each of those, she had to sit and listen as both the desperate and the cruel tried to slither their way into her life and slither back out again with her money.

And the Dowager Empress was tired of it.

She rose to watch the latest fake C.C. be driven from the house, and she cast her eye to the desk where each letter claiming to be from her granddaughter was placed. The pile was thicker than a book, and made up of just as much fantasy.

None of them had been her girl. None of them would ever be her girl, no matter how much she hoped.

Perhaps it was time to stop pretending. To accept the truth that Chastity-Claire had succumbed to the injuries she’d sustained when she’d fallen from the train, and had gone to be with her parents and siblings.

Marie was all alone, and “Together in Paris” had been nothing but a dream.

Trying not to choke on the tears she could feel coming, Marie went to the phone.

There was one person who had to know before anyone else that she was giving up the search. Prince Maxwell Sheffieldorovich, who had been her friend and confidante throughout her ordeal. He’d let her stay with him until she’d found her own house in the city, and he’d been the one to organise this search for C.C. on her behalf.

He’d spent all that time and money on a fruitless search. He deserved thanking, and the opportunity to rest. Lord knew he hadn’t much, since he’d agreed to help. Their efforts might have resulted in failure anyway, but he’d done his best. More than anyone else had been able – or willing – to.

She picked up the phone, ignoring how much heavier it felt with her current resolve in mind, and shakily dialled Maxwell’s number. The man himself didn’t answer, which left another wait for her to compose herself while the butler who’d answered brought the phone to his master.

Eventually, she heard the voice of the man she wanted to speak to.

“Hello?”

“Maxwell,” she sniffed quietly. “It’s me.”

“Your Imperial Majesty!” the man cried down the other end. His voice was, tragically, full of hope. “Is it good news, Ma’am? Did we...did we find the one?”

Marie’s heart broke.

They hadn’t found the one. They never would find the one...

Her little Chastity-Claire was gone. And it was all her fault.

She deserved to be alone. Marie could have saved her, she could have brought her to safety...

But she’d failed.

She’d been a coward by not letting C.C. climb onto the train first. She’d tried telling herself that she’d done that to help her girl climb up, but now that seemed like a feeble excuse. A ridiculous attempt at justifying her own selfishness.

It would burden her for the rest of her life.

Now she would mourn her. She would pray for C.C.’s forgiveness. And she would pray for the Lord to be merciful and take her away soon. She had nothing left in this world.

She was alone.

“No,” sentenced Marie, holding onto the edge of her desk, “She wasn’t my grandchild.”

The silence that followed told her how awkward Maxwell found the whole situation.

“Oh...I am sorry, Ma’am,” he just above mumbled. Then his voice became stronger, and more determined. “But we mustn’t lose heart! I’ve heard that there might be another potential–”

“I’m calling it off, Maxwell,” Marie stated, loudly and firmly over his attempts at being positive.

It stopped the prince in his tracks, “I, uh…I…begging your pardon, Ma’am, but I can’t help thinking that I misunderstood you just then?”

He was trying so hard, even still. But she had to make him understand.

“There are to be no more “potentials” in this house. I am calling off the search,” she told him. “I have heard nothing but rumours and seen no one but conmen for six years, and I will have no more part in that. It’s...obvious what really happened that night, and it’s about time I admitted the truth out loud.”

The next silence was so long, Marie wondered if the phone had been cut off at first.

But eventually Maxwell spoke up again, and now he sounded upset as well.

“But...Ma’am...it has only been six years!”

“Six years I could’ve spent accepting the fact, and allowing my granddaughter – my whole family – to rest,” Marie gripped the edge of the desk harder. “It is over, Maxwell. The Revolution won. My family is dead, and all that’s left is for me to join them.”

The thought didn’t even hurt quite as much as it should. Her heart was longing so much to join her girl – to see her smile, hear her laugh and sing...

Sing the song they’d shared, that none of the girls she’d met with so far had known. It wasn’t even a case of not remembering – they’d just never heard it in their lives!

She didn’t want her hopes to be lifted only to have them come crashing down every time she called on one of those fakers’ bluff. She was done with it. She was sick of it.

She had no more strength to go through another heartbreak.

“It’s over...” she repeated, “I am tired... tired of being tricked and ridiculed.”

“But, Your Majesty–”

“I don’t want to hear any ifs or buts, Maxwell,” Marie said sharply, “Just... don’t bring me any more girls.”

Maxwell sighed like a man who knew he’d been defeated.

“If you insist, Ma’am.”

Marie did insist. And she knew that Maxwell wouldn’t fail her in getting everything brought to a cessation, or betray her trust by continuing behind her back.

“Thank you,” she said, gripping the phone tighter briefly. “I…shall see you soon, but for now I feel like resting. Goodbye, Maxwell.”

“Goodbye, Ma’am.”

She put the phone down after that, and wiped her eyes. The entire day so far – and it was still only late morning – had taken its toll on her. She needed to have a lie down.

Not that she’d ever recover, no matter how long she slept.

But, as she left her study and made her way up towards her bedroom, she thought that she could dream. Dream of a little blonde girl hugging her side and telling her how happy she was to see her Grandmama again.

Or of a grand ballroom where her whole family were gathered in a celebration that didn’t end in bloodshed.

Or even of a mysterious young blonde woman, exactly right in every way, coming to the door and claiming how good it felt to be home.

* * *

 

Giorgi Rasputin wasn’t a nice man.

He hadn’t been one in life, and he certainly wasn’t one in death.

Well... if the state he currently found himself in could be defined as death.

Back when he was still the Tsarina’s confidante, Rasputin had enjoyed from an easy life, filled with luxuries and prestige. Not even members of many Russian noble families had been able afford to live like him! But then...

Then the Tsar had seen his true intentions, and refused to pay the money that, in Rasputin’s view, he was due.

Not only that, but the bastard had had the gall to exile him for treason! And all after he’d cured his good-for-nothing son...

Although he was known for being nasty and having a wicked heart, his most prominent personality trait, was that he was fond of his grudges. He nursed them, letting them grow and take root in his black heart, and they fuelled his relentless pursue for revenge. And what he’d wanted most in the world, was the Romanov dynasty to be reduced to dirt. That’s why he’d sold his soul to the devil – to end the Romanovs once and for all. In exchange, he’d been given an unholy reliquary, filled with every evil available in the depths of Hell. They were his to do as he pleased, and he’d used them to create a bloody revolution.

He had come so close to fulfilling his desire, but he hadn’t been able to see all of it through. He’d come also close to having the former Dowager Empress and the Grand Duchess in his grasp, both to torture and dispose of as he pleased, but he hadn’t counted on the boy.

The boy had fought hard, and had caught him by surprise with a blow to the side of the head with a rock. He was in this Godforsaken limbo state and prison that kept him in a kind of life again, all because of a boy. And the Empress had escaped, while the little Duchess had vanished.

But why was he sensing more than usual? It felt like a gut feeling of hatred, and anger, and a need to kill.

He had to move, and find out.

This place that had trapped him had a large mirror, and he could use it to see the things he could sense.

He placed his long, gnarled fingers on the glass and tapped it twice.

“Tell me, mirror; what is out there? Is it the one I haven’t been able to see? The last of the banes of my existence?”

The last time he’d used it, was to check if the old crone had died, but the Dowager Empress was alive still, and looking for her grandchild. He’d relished in her misery; he’d spent hours on end just watching he turn away potential Chastity-Claire’s. He’d celebrated her tears and mocked her pain.

But eventually, after the fiftieth Chastity-Claire had been rejected, he’d lost interest – he’d become bored.

He was constantly bored – there was nothing in his deserted prison for him to do: he was on a rocky sort of islet, floating on a limitless, dark... nothingness.

Complete nothingness.

There were no stars, no moon, no sun... there was nothing. Like he’d been swallowed up by absolute darkness. It didn’t bother him – he was, after all, a creature born from darkness. But again, he was bored.

He wanted out, and for some reason he simply couldn’t leave! He lacked... a purpose. A real reason to go back to the world of the living.

But as an image formed in the rusty mirror, Rasputin knew he’d found the purpose he’d been longing for.

The image there would have been happy to most people, but Rasputin found it both pitiful and disgusting. It appeared to be three friends, celebrating the birthday of one of them with a cake. But he knew who the blonde girl was – the one who had put the cake down on the table for her dark-haired female friend and her similarly blond male friend.

He’d know that wretched face anywhere! How had she managed survive all these years by herself, though?! The world was a cold, cruel place, especially for a little girl! She should have been carried away by sickness, starvation, or cruelty. She should have had an accident in the street, or fallen through ice and drowned. She should be dead!

And yet she was alive. How it burned him up inside to think that!

To relieve the pressure, he let out a yell and thumped his fist against the glass. Seething, he then moved closer to hear what they were saying in their little part of an insignificant world.

“Oh, Yer Imperial Highness! Yer friend Galina knows how ta make a good cake!” declared the brunette, as she cut herself a thick slice.

“That actually gives me an idea,” said the blond man. “Today’s lesson should be about food etiquette!”

“Niles, I was going ta get ta that!” the woman argued through a mouthful of cake. “But let’s just take a minute – it’s Claire’s birthday! We’ve got time.”

So, that was what the brat called herself now. _Claire_.

Well, it wouldn’t matter soon. When he got his hands on her, she wouldn’t even have a tombstone to mark the fact that she’d ever existed, let alone had a name!

And they were giving her etiquette lessons. Why? Wouldn’t she already know everything she needed to? He peered at the girl’s friends. The male – Niles, the female had called him – in particular looked familiar, but, frustratingly, he couldn’t place him. Not that it would matter, either – if he got in the way, he’d kill him too.

“Fran, we don’t have very much time,” he muttered to the dark-haired one when Claire was busy with the cake. “For ten million rubles, everyone and her mother will be heading to Paris! The Dowager Empress might be fooled before we make it there!”

What...?!

They were trying to take the girl back to her wretched grandmother?! They were trying to reunite the family he’d sold his soul to destroy?!

Over his dead body!

And maybe not even then, considering his current... state.

He had to stop them – to intercept before they reached Paris. He’d get them, kill them all, and then he’d set his sights on the world.

No one would stop him. Especially not a little girl who was now being taught how to ‘properly’ eat cake with the encouragement of some lowlifes who only seemed to be interested in money.

Petty crooks would not get in his way.

“That’s it, Your Imperial Highness!” Niles beamed at her progress. He clasped his hands in delight. “Oh, we really are in the presence of the last Romanov!”

 _The last Romanov_. The last cockroach to be stamped out!

It had to be done quickly, too. Before she reached her grandmother. The old woman probably had a match lined up for her, and as soon as the girl began to have children the family would multiply again, breeding like rats.

They might not have carried the Romanov name, but they’d carry their mother’s filthy blood.

Luckily Rasputin prided himself on being something of an exterminator. He’d managed to destroy the nest, and all he had left to do was pick of the stragglers.

His next task was to will himself free, so he could begin.

The princess would be gone before she could even claim her title. And the Empress would be left a broken woman, which might become entertaining again when he knew that he had been the one to make sure little Chastity-Claire was never even on her way.

The thought helped him to concentrate, and build up his willpower.

He didn’t know where the princess was exactly, but he’d track her down. It wouldn’t be difficult – she was young and if she relied on others who were clearly conning her, then she was a fool as well.

She’d leave a trail. And trails were easy to follow.

Especially with a little bit of help from dark magic, which he could feel was starting to pull him out of the prison...

“Come, dark forces,” he urged. “Come to me, and release me from this place! Let me wreak havoc upon the mortal world, and destroy my last enemy!”

With a thunderous wicked laughter, Rasputin clutched onto his impious reliquary and propelled himself upwards, towards a crack in the absolute darkness; a pale light poured into the blanket of endless darkness, guiding the wizard to freedom.

Guiding the man towards his prey.


	5. Chapter 5

**_ Chapter 5 _ **

**Leningrad**

Soviet Russia

June 1923

 

“Oh, darling; I can’t wait until we’re in Paris!” Niles crooned, wrapping an arm securely around Claire and nuzzling into her cheek. “You’ll love it – walks by the Seine are utterly romantic at night!”

Claire quirked an eyebrow at him, clutching at his hand, “The voice of experience?”

Niles gave her a light Eskimo kiss, “Only in my dreams with you...”

It was nauseating enough for the guard to wave them straight on through, past passport control and onto the platform. As soon as they were out of his sight, Niles unwound himself from Claire and they moved apart, the man smirking all the way.

“See, Your Imperial Highness? There’s really nothing to it,” he told her.

Claire could see that now. She’d been so nervous upon arriving at the station that she’d briefly wondered about turning around again and going back to the bakery. But Niles and Fran were there, raring to go with all their fake papers (including the ‘proof’ that she was married to Niles!) and before she knew it they were all heading inside.

Niles had seen she was uneasy, and had quickly told her to just act how newlyweds would as he pulled her through, showing the tickets and the Exit Visas to the relevant authorities as they went.

But now that they were on the platform, Claire began feeling...strange. It didn’t feel like excitement or adrenaline from getting through without any trouble. It wasn’t happiness from seeing Fran make it through to join them on the platform, either.

It felt like...deep sadness, mixed with something else that was making her regret eating one of the pastries that Galina had packed for their trip. She settled the case and her bag (complete with all the money the old baker insisted she have) down so that she could start to massage her stomach.

“Feelin’ alright, Yer Highness?” Fran asked, rubbing her shoulder in sympathy. “Got a case o’ the jitters?”

It was more than just jitters, but what could Claire say? She couldn’t exactly say, out loud and publicly, just how afraid train stations made her. It was ridiculous, and more than a little childish, but she had lost her family in one.

Or so she believed.

In any case, she had to keep moving. Her “husband” was offering her his arm to climb onto the train. Thanks to Fran’s “magic” (as she liked to call her flirtatious expertise), they’d managed to get tickets in second class at half-price. Yes, it had cost them a bit more, but all things considered, they’d gotten quite a good deal for what they’d paid. Especially considering the journey was going to be a long one; their seats were a lot better than any in third class.

Not to mention they’d gotten their very own compartment!

So, still pretending to be the newlywed Mr and Mrs Osinov, Niles and Claire made their way to their accommodation for the next days, Fran trailing behind them to not raise any suspicions.

The conman certainly knew how to put on a show, for not only did he open the door to their compartment for her, but he also insisted on carrying her luggage to their seats.

Fran came in moments after them, as Niles settled their luggage in the overhead rack, commenting on what a good time they were going to have in Paris and what a good idea it had been to choose said city as their Honeymoon venue, all the while lowering the privacy curtain.

They all sighed in relief when it was all the way down.

“ _Phew_!” exclaimed Fran, slumping on her seat, a small smile on her pretty face, “That nearly made me wet my underthings!”

“You’re telling me...” Niles huffed, trying to take a seat next to Claire.

Not that he managed it – he was rudely shoved to the floor by Claire’s feet.

“Hey!” his head snapped up to her from his position several feet below. “What on Earth do you think you’re doing?!”

Claire shrugged casually, “You told me to act, and here I am, acting. And a Grand Duchess of the Russian Empire would never be forced to sit next to the common man!”

After that, she leaned over and grinned at him.

“There’s really nothing to it...!”

Fran wouldn’t have known the entire context, but she started to splutter out laughter anyway.

“Look at the two o’ you, fightin’ like yer actually married!”

Both blondes gave her a hard look.

“We are not married!” they snapped, before turning their attentions back to each other, glaring daggers at each other.

“I’m glad I’m not married to you,” Claire spat at him. “I’d hate to get in the way of your busy schedule doing nothing while Miss Fineova and I do it all!”

Niles scowled back, “Well, I’m glad I’m not married to you, either! Not unless doctors out there somewhere have invented the concept of a personality transplant!”

Behind them, they heard Fran open one of the bags. When they looked, they found the brunette with a small notepad and pen. She stopped what she was doing when they looked up, and smiled half-jokingly.

“I’m gonna keep score o’ these,” she told them.

Both blondes’ jaws dropped, and before they knew it they were directing their verbal assault on her.

“Stop treating us like we can be paired!” said Claire.

“Yeah, I’m...a...a...free agent!”

Fran threw up her hands defensively, keeping the pad on her lap.

“Well, forgive me fer thinkin’ it might be a fun thing ta do on the way ta Paris!”

Niles scoffed out a laugh, still on the floor and refusing to move to his seat – this had become a matter of honour, and he wasn’t going to be the first one to give in. Least of all to little miss I-am-better-than-thou.

“Fun?” he said sardonically, “She doesn’t even understand the concept of fun!”  

Claire gave Niles a sidelong glance, lips tightly pressed together. She bent forward a little, pretending to sniff at the air around him before wrinkling her nose. “At least I know the concept of proper personal hygiene. And, by the way, that was a lame zinger.”

Niles’ face flushed pink, “It was not lame!”

But Claire knew she had the upper hand. Just from the embarrassed look that was spreading across his face, she knew. And he didn’t seem to have anything to counter with.

“It was lame and we all know it,” she stretched herself out on what she felt had been a hard-won seat. “So just sit back down there, relax and enjoy the ride!”

Grumbling to himself, Niles sat there for a few minutes before Fran slid over the seat just enough to make room for him.

She then distinctly scratched a number one into the paper of her pad, which Niles pretended to ignore.

Claire, on the other hand, was open in her delight. And why shouldn’t she be? She’d not only gotten out of Russia for the first time, she was also on her way to the city of her dreams!

Paris...where she might end up finding her past, and building a future...

"Anyway," said Niles loudly, retrieving his own notebook from his jacket pocket. "If Her Imperial Highness would grace us mortals with five minutes of her time..."

Conman and street princess locked eyes in a tense standoff – he knew she was wordlessly warning him not to push her buttons, but as it was, he had way too much fun testing her limits. He was a born nuisance, after all. And if she wanted a battle of wits, then it was game on.

He would soon be the worst pain in her backside.

Real princess or not (although Niles placed his bet on the latter option), she was perfectly capable of exchanging zingers with him, wasn’t she? By the time they got to Paris, he was confident Fran’s notebook would show the scale had tilted in his favour.

“If you continue down that path, I’ll do my best to ignore you,” replied the blonde pointedly, one perfect eyebrow slightly arching upwards, as if daring him.

Niles shrugged.

“Well… it won’t be me who’ll look like a fool in front of the Dowager Empress because I don’t know my family history.”

In Claire’s mind, that was a slight that couldn’t be ignored. She’d hit her head, for crying out loud! She was sure the Dowager wouldn’t mind that she’d lost her memory, and Niles was just close to becoming...well, infuriating!

Luckily she knew she could return fire.

“At least I’d only look a fool through no fault of my own,” she retorted. “I’ve had an accident, what’s _your_ excuse?”

Niles scowled up at her, and Claire triumphantly thought she heard Fran scratch another point into her notepad. Niles thought he heard it too, but he paid it no attention. If he even acknowledged it a little bit, Claire would have won.

Not that she wasn’t already acting like she’d won.

“I’ve spent time with you – it’s diminished my own intellect.”

The corner of Claire’s mouth turned up. He could tell she was about to toss one right back at him.

“If I’ve diminished it, then your IQ must be in the negative numbers by now!”

Another scratch on the notepad, and Niles turned on Fran.

“Do you mind?!”

Fran shrugged, “What? I’m keepin’ a fair score! If ya get one over on ‘er, then I’ll give you a point, not before!”

Niles rolled his eyes, sighing in exasperation, “That’s not what I meant! Stop it entirely!”

Fran put her hands on her hips, looking at him crossly.

“Just ‘cause yer not winnin’ so far doesn’t mean ya get ta spoil my train ride ta Paris!”

Claire spluttered with laughter, “Yeah, Niles – don’t spoil the lady’s fun.”

She extended her arm gracefully and delicately, practicing all the poise they said she’d need if she was going to look like she belonged with her family.

She then took in a deep breath and practiced her diction, “That is a _royal order_.”

There was silence in the compartment, with the exception of the distinct _clickety-clack clickety-clack_ of the rails as the train sped along. Niles stared at Claire while she pointed, trying desperately hard to not look like the train was rocking him too much.

He felt like it would only take away his dignity if it did.

And Claire was doing a fabulous job of that without being proven royalty, as he was finding out. He might not have been pleased with it, but she was giving him a run for his money!

Though, when that money was ten million rubles, he didn’t mind the chase quite so much.

Besides, they still had days of this journey left. He could grant her this one, and then easily get her back on the others.

So he staged her a bow, which was difficult from his position but not impossible.

“As you wish, Your Imperial Highness,” he said.

Claire smirked, and lowered her hand, “Much better, _servant boy_.”

Niles pulled a face towards the floor, ignoring how much both women seemed to be enjoying his humiliation.

He’d get her back, and after that the sooner they got to Paris, the better.


	6. Chapter 6

**_ Chapter 6  _ **

**Train to Paris**

**June** **1923**

Claire was trying hard to listen, and to take it all in, but it just...wasn’t sinking in. Maybe it they’d been going over it for too long, maybe she was tired and she didn’t know it, maybe it was all a mistake and she’d never had the memories in the first place!

But it wasn’t stopping Fran from trying still.

“Come on, let’s try it again, honey,” she encouraged. “Where were you born? Where was the palace?”

C.C. luckily remembered that part. It was perhaps one of the easiest parts of the information to remember, out of everything they’d tried to cram into her.

“In Peterhof palace. By the sea,” she answered lamely.

“Good,” Fran seemed pleased with it, despite the reluctant tone. “What pastimes did you enjoy?”

Claire looked up as she thought, “Horse-riding, and...and…”

What was the other answer?! She had to know it, didn’t she?!

Niles watched as she groaned under her breath. This was taking far too long! They’d be in Paris before they knew it, and Her Imperial Slowness wouldn’t remember a thing! After a few more seemingly endless moments of Claire umm-ing and ahh-ing over possible answers, he sighed in frustration and answered for her.

“You liked to play pranks, especially ones in which you got to scare the cook,” he told her. “Like the charming child I’m sure you were.”

Claire’s eyes flashed in indignation, “I’m going as fast as I can, Niles! I have a head injury, remember? I don’t recollect things like this at the same speed as everybody else!”

“We gave you enough opportunities to relearn back in St Petersburg!” Niles snapped. “Don’t tell me you still forget things now!”

Claire felt her chest puffing out. She’d never felt the need to stand up to someone so much in her entire life!

“You’re being impatient!” she argued. “How the heck am I supposed to remember everything at once?! Especially with you hovering over me like I need constant supervision!”

Niles could’ve remarked quite happily that she _did_ need constant supervision. That it was lucky she’d been found by anyone because she’d probably be a danger to herself otherwise.

But he didn’t. He just rolled his eyes, folded his arms and looked away.

“There. I’m not looking; therefore I am officially no longer supervising you. Does that help you to remember, _Your Highness_?!”

Next thing he knew, Claire had slapped him.

The blow across his left cheek was disorienting and left both Niles and Fran’s jaws hanging wide open.

“What the hell was that for?!” snapped the conman, cupping his smarting cheek.

“Because you are being an asshole!” barked Claire, folding her arms over her chest. “I am trying my hardest!”

“Well, it is not enough!” Niles replied, raising his voice. “We are risking everything to get you to your grandmother and this is how you thank us?!”

“Well _forgive me_ for having an _injury_!” replied Claire, getting to her feet. Part of her was aching to strike him again, but she held back.

For now.

“That is just a bad excuse for your laziness!” said Niles, following suit and getting to his feet.

To Claire, his words were akin to a slap in the face.

How dare he suggest such a thing! She was suffering because of something that hadn’t been her fault, and he had the gall to call it _laziness_?!

Did the man have no shame? No sensitivity?!

She pointed an accusing finger right at him, “You cannot say that! You have no right!”

Niles took a step closer. It was hard to intimidate when the other person was practically the same height, but he was trying his hardest to make her back down and he had nothing else to lose by trying.

Besides, he knew what he was talking about. Pain and bad experiences didn’t mean you had to stop. You just pushed them down and kept going.

“I have every right in the world,” he told her. “You think I’m going to let you quit now, when we’re so close?! It’s laziness if you do! It’s worse than laziness, it’s wasting our time, and the Dowager Empress’, and could get us all put in prison!”

“Or killed.”

The third voice brought them out of it just to notice Fran still sat there, with her scorekeeping notepad at the ready.

“What? If the government figures out where we’ve been, they’re gonna come lookin’ and they’ll probably wanna ask a few questions...”

The glares she got from both blondes was enough to shut her right up.

“Jeez, take it easy, I was just sayin’...” she said in an undertone, shrinking in her seat and leaving both Niles and Claire to bicker in peace.

And they were both raring to go for a fight.

“I’m not going to prison – none of us are! Read my lips, Niles: I. Have. Got. This,” Claire hissed. “All you have to do is give me time!”

“We don’t have any time, and you are making up excuses to keep on pushing our progress back!” Niles snarled back.

“I am not making up excuses!” Claire raised her voice to shouting. “I can’t help that I got hurt, don’t you understand that?!”

“You should be past that by now!” Niles shouted back. “We have more important things to be dealing with than past traumas!”

Claire put her hands on her hips, glaring at him.

“Spoken like a spoiled brat who’s never faced pain or trauma in his whole damn life!”

Claire believed she saw a deep-rooted sadness flash across Niles’ sky-blue eyes, but it was gone in an instant. What was more, his features hardened. Like a volcano’s lava after an eruption.

She’d clearly touched a nerve, and for some reason Claire began to regret her words. Still, pride weighed heavier than repentance, so she stood her ground.

When he spoke, Niles’ voice was a dry, resentful whisper.

“You weren’t the only one who lost it all in the Revolution,” he said darkly, turning to the door. “You weren’t the only one who suffered.”

He was gone before Claire had the chance to say anything, leaving only an awkward silence and a sense of guilt behind. She wondered if perhaps she should go after him, and apologise for saying something which had clearly stung him deeply.

But Fran got up first, and laid a hand on her shoulder.

“I know ya didn’t mean it, honey, but ya gotta be careful about what ya say about the past and trauma around Niles,” the brunette said sadly. “He, uh...he had it worse than most. He doesn’t like ta talk about it much, but he told me.”

Claire looked at her curiously. She knew Fran would tell her if she asked (and maybe even if she didn’t) with very little prompting. Maybe she’d get to find out a little bit about her slightly mysterious, occasionally infuriating companion?

And she was in luck. Her unspoken question was somehow heard by the part of Fran that loved to share gossip and news.

“Niles used ta be a prince, honey,” she explained. “He had a home in a palace! Money, a title, land – his family had it all! But his father didn’t care about anyone but himself, and gambled until he lost everythin’ they had. And then after that, he left them. He ran away with some young thing he met at a party. He left them with no money, no hope, and only one way ta pay off any debts they had: they had ta take jobs workin’ as servants for yer family. The Romanovs. He was there the night the Revolution happened, and so were his mother and brothers.”

Claire couldn’t believe it, and just when she was about to say so, it got worse.

“He even had a love, who was there as well. He tried to save her that night, but he...thinks she didn’t make it. So now it’s just him. I don’t know how he makes it through a day, after all that...”

Neither did Claire, if she was being honest.

She wouldn’t have said what she’d said if she’d known what he’d gone through! She wasn’t some kind of heartless bitch... she’d just snapped at him! Again, not that she’d have touched that subject had she known what he’d gone through.

Like herself, Niles had lost his home and his family. Like herself, he was a member of the Russian nobility (or Imperial Family in her case), and that meant nothing anymore.

They were more alike than she dared admit.

The only difference, perhaps, was that he’d lost someone he’d been in love with...

That was beyond her experience. In her eighteen years of life, she’d never been in love – or, at least, she didn’t remember being. When she was still at the orphanage, she’d been too worried about surviving to waste time in boys (not to mention Ekaterina would have killed her if she’d dared date anyone). And then, in St Petersburg, she’d kept mostly to herself, not wanting to mingle with any of the sleazy men who’d showed an interest in her.

But Niles had been in love...

And he’d lost it.

She didn’t know what was it, but the thought of him longing for a lost love made her own heart ache. And not necessarily in a good way.

It was almost like...like she didn’t like to think of him pining for some girl. But she didn’t know why, and she wasn’t about to ask.

Fran would probably have some kind of an answer, if she had. But Claire was averse to hearing what her suggestion would be. The woman was kind and loved people, but she had a tendency to get things wrong and Claire didn’t want to be wrong in any kind of assumption.

She was also a little afraid of what would happen if Fran turned out to be right.

So, she chose to do what Niles had clearly done with his memories. She buried it, and tried to focus her mind on something else.

Well, maybe an apology was still in order. Scratch that – it was in order. She’d been inappropriate and insensitive, and she’d set it right. She could certainly do all of that without making a fool of herself, or accidentally saying something wrong!

She sighed, biting her lip as she stared out the compartment door, “Neither do I… God, I was such an idiot! Maybe I should go talk to him...”

She was going to move, when she felt Fran’s hand on her shoulder again.

“Let ‘im be for now, honey. He’ll come back eventually, and he’ll probably be more ready ta talk.”

Ready to talk...what would they talk about? Somehow she didn’t see Niles being willing to sit down over a cup of tea or some dinner in the dining car and laying out all his deepest secrets and darkest nightmares for everyone to see and hear.

He might even be angry that Claire knew. If Fran had had to tell her instead of him, it had to be private.

But that wasn’t a judgement she could make. She certainly hadn’t made the right one before, so she felt it best to let him make the next move. Whenever that happened to be, of course. It could take hours before he came back, and even then she and Fran might be sleeping...

She had to wait and see, and hope that he gave her a chance to tell him how sorry she really was.

* * *

 

Rasputin had emerged in the Polish countryside a week ago.

A dismal cloud-ridden week, spent at a ramshackle shed near the railways, bereft of every commodity, including a proper bed. He didn’t care much about the lack of food (after all, he didn’t need to eat anymore), but rather he resented the disgustingly warm weather. To cap it all off, it had rained almost non-stop. Given that the roof of his temporary accommodation was liable to leaking when it rained, his clothes were sodden – had been sodden for the past seven days. It almost felt like he was in bloody England…

Anywhere, even Hell, was better than England.

Not to mention demons were less resentful _and_ had more sense of humour than the funniest of Englishmen, whose idea of a proper conversation always included a remark on just how awful the weather was.

But back to his current situation, despite the ghastly wait, he knew it was only a matter of lying in wait. His reliquary was infallible – it’d brought him just where he was supposed to be.

Just where his prey would soon be.  

In life, he’d been many things – first, a poor semi-literate peasant who, by using God’s name and posing as a man of prayer, had managed to climb to the highest strata of Russian society. Being a born shape-shifter, he’d cloaked his true nature behind a carefully-built façade that, ultimately, hadn’t fooled the Tsar.

The bastard had thought his frail Imperial power was enough to drive him away, empty-handed, but Rasputin had certainly showed him his place – six feet under, alongside his filthy family.

All his family, but one slimy little twerp that had had a stroke of luck and slithered through his fingers, to safety.

Not anymore.

He was ready to kill – like sharks when they smelled blood, Rasputin wouldn’t stop until the last Romanov was dead.

The warlock, still lost in his gruesome fantasies of murder and cruelty, walked out of the shed, hands folded behind his back. The quietness of the countryside had been interrupted by a distant rumbling sound. He squinted his emotionless heavy-lidded eyes at the horizon; a puff of black smoke could be seen rising in the sky.

Ah. A train...

It was the reason, no doubt, that the reliquary had brought him to that exact spot.

The little duchess was trying to escape, was she?  Well, she wouldn’t get very far once he was done – he’d destroy the railway and with any luck, she’d be crushed into an unrecognisable mess in no time at all. And if she wasn’t, he’d do the job himself about a thousand times more slowly.

He began to head off in the direction of the smoke. He could meet them half way, and then it would all be over for them all.

A cruel smile played about his features as he moved. It had been a long time – probably since the night of the Revolution! – since he’d heard anyone screaming in terror, and he was looking forward to it very much.

He had to figure out a way of causing an avalanche or a landslide.

It would be easy enough. He’d performed and perfected better dark magic than this, and for annoying princesses that even thinking about set his blood boiling.

He wouldn’t let her escape this time. There would be no eleventh hour salvation or unlikely hero to thwart his plans. He would have his revenge for the Romanovs’ arrogance, and since this would be his last killing, he might as well enjoy it.

He was usually one for mass murder, but he kind of hoped the Grand Duchess survived long enough for him to have his fun with her. The Tsar should have heeded his warning, for now he was going to have to watch, helplessly, how he tortured his little darling Chastity-Claire to death.

Oh what fun it was going to be!

There was a spring in his step as he made his way to the nearby bridge; the train was supposed to cross it to continue its way to Paris.

It was a shame he had a reliquary bursting with dutiful evil minions itching to blow it to pieces!

His nimble fingers drummed on the reliquary, and Rasputin did something he hadn’t done in years – he began to hum a merry tune. An ominous merry tune, but a merry tune nonetheless.

This was his purpose, and once the brat was dead, he’d be able to roam the earth again, free to continue his reign of terror.

It took him barely fifteen minutes at a fast pace to reach the bridge.

The train wasn’t there yet. Good. He had time to prepare.

He lowered his head to the reliquary, whispering and encouraging in chaotic glee, “Come, my minions! Rise for your master!”

The demons and fiends of Hell within didn’t need to be asked twice. They screeched and screamed and roared in malicious delight as they flew free, fangs bared and claws sharp, ready to undertake the will of their master.

And Rasputin was ready. He’d been ready for so long, he could taste his victory. This would be sweet, like honeyed wine drunk from an enemy’s skull.

He directed one bony finger towards the target.

“Destroy the bridge!” he bellowed his order over the roar of the demonic horde. “Leave no trace! Not one single part of the next train can be spared!”

Doing that would’ve meant risking her surviving and getting away. And even though that chase would be fun, he’d much rather have her right where he could see her; either squashed like a bug or writhing in agony under one of his spells.

But his minions were now racing towards the bridge, only thoughts of destruction and death in their animalistic minds.

The rabid swarm of creatures fell on the bridge ravenously, fangs bared and ready to tear everything into pieces. The buzzing noise they made was not much different from that of angry wasps, and it seemed to go in crescendo as the steel of the foundations began to give in to the onslaught.

The metal moaned, creaked and snapped, no match for the diamond-hard claws and teeth. The demons worked like termites, somewhat methodical in their madness and precise in each bite and tear they made.

Eventually the foundations were so weak, Rasputin saw the deck of the bridge start to cave in. He clenched his fists and grinned horribly.

“Yes!” he cried out, punching the air. “Rip and wrench! Wrest and prise it apart! Dismantle and destroy, and leave her life forfeit!”

It was unclear if the creatures heard. They were so engrossed in attacking the bridge and there was too much noise.

They were efficient either way, and Rasputin didn’t truly care if they heard him as long as they kept on turning the bridge into a ruin.

As long as his plan was nearly complete.

Eventually, when his creatures finished corroding the last of the bridge’s support beams, the entire structure collapsed in on itself with a loud metallic clang.

Rasputin danced and cheered in between the chunks of bridge and piles of debris that would have once supported a passing train. His plan was close to completion – soon, the last Romanov would perish at his hand.

His demons buzzed and hissed, celebrating alongside their master before returning to the reliquary, where they would wait for their next orders.

One demon, the biggest of them all and the only winged one, fluttered to Rasputin’s shoulder and landed on it, a nasty little grin on his worm-eaten face.

“Well done, Bartok, well done,” crooned the sorcerer to his pet, stroking his side. “Now we wait. Her Imperial Highness won’t take long to join us.”


	7. Chapter 7

**_ Chapter 7 _ **

Polish Countryside

June 1923

Niles didn’t feel better at all, but there was something significantly more calming about having the entire length of a train between himself and Claire.

Her words were still echoing in his head, though. She had no idea how wrong she was! He’d lost everything. His mother and brothers. His source of income and all his possessions. His family’s only hope of ever being redeemed or repaying their debts...

His love...the only love he knew he’d ever have...

The Grand Duchess Chastity-Claire might have once been a match for him, if he’d been a prince when they’d met. He’d have wooed her with gifts and respectful, chaperoned walks. He’d have written to her – letters, poetry of all kinds, sent her drawn pictures...

But he’d been a serving boy, and as such he could only stare and think about all the things he’d do for her, if given the chance.

A chance he would never get.

He’d tried to save her that night – he’d even held off Rasputin himself! Not that it had been enough...

She had to be dead. She’d gotten separated from her grandmother, she’d been found by the wrong people, and she was probably buried in a shallow grave somewhere in the woods.

He’d done everything he could, and yet he’d still failed.

It wasn’t fair. How could he have come so close to the girl of his dreams and then lost her? That wasn’t the way all the romance novels went – the dashing hero swept in and fought off all the villains, before taking the fair maiden in his arms and making a daring escape that ended with them kissing and then riding off into the sunset together.

He’d never had that feeling about another woman. There had been other women, but none of them had ever given him the same feeling. He hadn’t been in love with them, or even particularly cared for them. They’d been...well, it sounded heartless but they’d been useful in the moment.

He wouldn’t have ever thought about going back in time to save any of them. Not like he did for his lost love; he often imagined waking up back on the morning of that fateful day. He’d have gotten up and sent out a warning – he’d have told everybody he could, in the hope that maybe the guards would choose to evacuate the royal family...

She’d have been safe. And in the really good dreams, her father the Tsar was so grateful that he wiped out his family’s debts and gave them back their home. Then he would have been free to get to know the Grand Duchess, who would have wanted to thank the prince-turned-serving-boy-turned-prince-again who’d saved her and her family...

He had to shake the image out of his head. The Grand Duchess wasn’t alive anymore. He had no chance of even meeting her again, let alone getting to know her well enough to even consider proposing...

He’d never have his love in his arms. He’d never get to call her his wife or the mother of his children. He’d never get to grow old with her – he’d do that alone.

Alone with the millions he’d get from this scam, which had to comfort him somehow. It might be an empty life, but it would be a comfortable empty life.

Part of him wondered if maybe he was being disrespectful to his love’s memory by forcing another woman to pretend to be her, and by fooling her grandmother. But he couldn’t think about it for too long, or else he’d back out.

He needed the money, no matter what. And that thought overpowered everything else.

Even the gnawing sense of guilt that he’d carried around since he’d thought of this scheme.

Niles took a deep, calming drag on his last cigarette – he rarely smoked, but on occasions such as this one he allowed himself to indulge in a nicotine-ridden cigarette. He had forgotten to buy a new box (this one had lasted him for over two months) before leaving Russia.

He wasn’t sad about leaving. Not really. There was nothing left for him in Russia anymore, and he’d much rather be a pauper in a capitalist society than inside this travesty of a political and economic system.

And if their plan worked, he wouldn’t have to be a pauper anymore. He would be a millionaire and be able to do anything he wanted. He would be able to travel and enjoy himself...

All on his own.

Niles released a tired sigh; he still found it amazing just how much the Grand Duchess’ death had affected him. She probably hadn’t even been aware of his existence, but he couldn’t help it...

He was still head over heels for her, and the mere idea of committing to another woman was unthinkable.

Such was his lot in life. Some people found their sweethearts right away, they got married and lived happily ever after. Some had to do some searching before they found theirs, but the end result was exactly the same.

And some others, even still? They’d never had theirs. Their sweethearts had been taken away from them, or otherwise had just never existed. Either way, it meant being alone for the rest one’s days.

And he was resigned to it. There was no point in getting worked up – Claire had merely touched a nerve so he’d retreated, that was all.

He’d go back when he was good and ready, not a moment before.

For the time being, watching the world go by from the window was fairly _spectacu..._

His thought trailed off. Something wasn’t right, up ahead.

It looked like...the bridge had been _blown up_?!

Eyes now wide and heart pumping adrenaline, his first thought was to get back to the cabin. They might’ve been fighting, but if he could save them both, he’d also get the satisfaction from seeing Claire have to apologise, and he’d get the knowledge that they were still on the way to fortune.

He took off again, back down the corridor.

He supposed he should have been shouting. Screaming from the top of his lungs to get someone to stop the train. But he wasn’t – he couldn’t. No one would have believed it, and by the time they’d have checked, it would’ve been too late.

He had to rely on enough people seeing it, while he attended to his friends.

Well, one of them was a friend. The other was...complicated, and he was currently in no position to stop and analyse what it could possibly mean.

He didn’t bother knocking before he entered - they weren’t anywhere particularly fancy, so there was practically no point in getting changed too many times. They wouldn’t be in any kind of state of undress.

He went in, and just as suspected, the two women were in their seats.

The gasp that went up from Fran momentarily stunned him. Meanwhile, she immediately leapt up and placed her hand on his shoulder.

“Niles! How’re ya feelin’?! We’ve been so worried, haven’t we, Claire?”

The woman nodded, but didn’t speak.

She didn’t even look at him, preferring to avert her eyes, towards the window. She knew that she’d overstepped a line in the heat of the argument, but she wasn’t ready to apologise – at least not publicly.

She would, in time, but not now.

At any rate he’d overstepped more than one line too. In her mind they were even in terms of hurtful exchanges.

“We have to go!” Niles said, hastily retrieving their bags from the netting, “We have to get off this train now!”

Claire wasn’t paying attention, but Fran watched him, confused.

“What?! Why?!”

He handed her bags he couldn’t slip over one of his shoulders. Why the hell did Claire’s have to be so heavy?!

“Start to move and I’ll tell you as we go!” he ordered, thrusting a pointing finger in the direction of the door. “Get down to the caboose, we’re going to have to jump!”

Not letting her say another word, he ushered her away. He and then marched straight towards Claire, who appeared to shrink in her seat.

“If you wanna leave, go,” she told him firmly, obviously both annoyed by him and afraid of the leap. “But there is no way in hell I’m jumping off this train!”

Why did she have to be so difficult about it?! It wasn’t his fault any of this had happened – and even the parts where it was, she’d agreed. This was just the latest thing they all had to get through, and it was a whole lot better than dying in a train crash!

Niles groaned aloud in frustration, “There will be nowhere to stay if you don’t! If we don’t all get off now, we’re going to be killed by...oh, forget it!”

It was taking too long. He was running out of time. They needed to get away.

So, angling himself to one side, he slipped his arms under her and picked her up!

“Hey!” Claire protested, struggling in his hold. “If I am a Grand Duchess of Russia, you’ll put me down at once!”

Niles ignored her order, held her tighter so that she’d stay still, and hurried from the compartment, “Not a chance in hell, Your Imperial Highness!”

He’d lose time in putting her back on the floor. They didn’t have time to find anyone to warn about the bridge - the train would probably never stop in time, anyway.

They had no time to do anything but run.

He could just see Fran disappearing along the corridor, towards the back of the train. Good, she was almost out.

All he had to do was convince a not-entirely-convinced maybe-princess that the chance of getting hurt by jumping down from a moving train was a whole lot better than definitely being killed.

And if she wouldn’t make the leap by herself, then he’d have to hold her during that part as well.

She’d thank him later, either way. Once she’d realised it was much nicer not being dead.

Not that the task of saving her was easy – as they stumbled along the corridor, Claire kept complaining and flailing her limbs, demanding that he return her to the floor at once.

But he was stronger than she was, and kept his hold on her tight. That, of course, didn’t prevent a swift kick aimed at his side from reaching its target – he had to take a deep breath and remind himself they wouldn’t get the reward without Claire to keep himself from bringing the many ideas of dropping her on the spot and tying her to a chair to fruition.

“Quick!” Niles screamed to Fran, “To the baggage car!”

Fran didn’t hesitate nor attempted to contradict her associate. She pushed forward, kicking the doors between the different carriages open and leading the way to the end of the train.

And all the way, Claire complained.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” she eventually cried, thumping Niles’ back with her closed fists. “Don’t you understand Russian? Put. Me. Do—”

“No!” snapped Niles, “I am trying to save you, you stupid girl!”

Claire had been spoken to that way a lot in her life.

Ekaterina had called her stupid, purely for the joy seeing how downtrodden it made her. Some of the other kids would join in, thrilled and relieved that it was her facing the wrath today and not them...

But Niles’ cry had urgency to it. There was real terror in his eyes, and it was starting to scare her.

He’d seen something. He hadn’t so far said what it was, but it had to have been terrible.

And now he was trying to save her...

She was shaken out of her thoughts by the dark realisation that they weren’t helping anybody else.

“Wait a minute, shouldn’t we tell somebody where we’re going?!” Claire demanded to know. “Or that there’s something out there that’s scaring you out of your suspenders?!”

Niles bit down on his lip before answering, “There’s no time. The train would never break in time, and we would never get everybody off in time either. All we can do is survive.”

Survive. Just as he had since the night of the Revolution...

He had to close out the thought of how many people they were leaving behind. It wasn’t one of his usual cons – the most a person could have wounded over a forged painting or a fake piece of jewellery was their pride. No cheated card game had ever resulted in bloodshed. Stealing and pickpocketing did not take lives.

But his priority had to be Claire, not them. Who knew? Some might have seen the damage in the bridge before that moment as well, and could’ve been preparing to leave...

He was probably kidding himself, but the thought made things easier.

Made carrying Claire easier. She was looking at him oddly while he carried her.

“What do you mean, “the train won’t brake in time”?”

That was right. He still hadn’t told either of his companions what he’d seen.

He looked between the two of them, and decided that both distance in physical location and time from the incident were needed before he explained.

Before he told them what would have to happen to the train.

“Niles, please…” Claire begged, “What–”

“No time!” Niles cut her off, picking up the pace; they were nearly at the baggage carriage. He was certain they’d be able to jump from there and also get some extra (albeit stolen) baggage for the trip. He doubted its true owners would mind given the situation…

They would need all the clothes, resources and hard cash they could get if they wanted to get to Paris.

This unintentional detour would cost them time and money, and it would certainly pose threat to their plans. Still, they weren’t down for yet. The three of them had faced difficulties in life, and they’d always come out the other side.

Niles was determined to keep it that way.

At last, the small party reached the baggage carriage; Niles knew they were running out of time. They had to act quickly.

“Grab some extra bags, all of you,” Niles ordered, putting Claire down to reach for a rather expensive-looking leather covered camphor-wood chest with brass studding and strapwork. It was heavy, but he wasn’t planning on carrying it all the way to Paris. They would only take some essentials for the trip.

But, while Fran was already rummaging for expensive suitcases and vanity boxes, Claire couldn't move – she could only stare at them robbing other passengers – passengers that were going to die, at that – of their possessions.

Niles looked up from his selected luggage, having found a wad of cash he could stuff into his pocket, and noticed her current state.

“Claire! There’s no time to just stand around!” he slammed the chest shut, nothing else of great value or usefulness presenting itself. “We have to get supplies and then we have to go! The least you can do is help!”

“You’re going through other people’s things...”

 Niles rolled his eyes, “Now is not the time to have an attack of conscience! We need supplies if we’re going to jump, and we _have_ to make this jump!”

The people she was so worried about weren’t going to make the jump – or more like the drop – the train would take...

But Claire was still stood there, astounded. And Niles realised she wasn’t going to do it – she wasn’t going to go through other people’s things and take them, unless she absolutely had to.

Unless she was given a reason to.

They had no time, and he would much prefer they were far away from the soon-to-be disaster before he told. But if it was the only way to get her moving, he’d have to do it now.

“The bridge is gone,” he finally confessed. “Up ahead. It’s just...missing! And we have to get off this train before it goes over the edge!”

There was a certain satisfaction in seeing Claire’s mouth dropping open and her face paling in the carriage’s dim light, but he couldn’t gloat over having shocked her – not when they were fast approaching a precipice.

They had to move. Fast. And at last Claire seemed to grasp that, for she ran towards a pile of suitcases and selected a few to take with them. She didn’t know what they were going to need to survive the next few days in the wilderness, but the more the better…

“Niles, we need ta jump!” Fran exclaimed, having slid the carriage’s door open; she pointed at a nearby soft meadow bank, “That will cushion our fall!”

Niles spotted where she was talking about. It looked big enough for them all, but they were all going to have to jump together, or they’d never make it.

He started by throwing a couple of the cases close to the bank. They’d have to walk to get them, but if it came right down to their survival, it would be worth it.

At least freeing up his hands meant he had them free to guide his companions.

“Alright, this is it!” he shouted over the roar of the train. “Get close to the edge and ready to jump! We’ll go together!”

Fran looked scared for a moment, but then she looked over in the direction the doomed train was travelling in, and the fear suddenly looked more like resolve. She went forward, getting ready to leap over the side.

Satisfied she was ready, Niles turned to Claire.

“Claire? Get to the edge, we have to go!”

But she didn’t appear to be listening. Or even there, other than physically speaking...

Niles felt tension gripping at his insides, “Claire?”

She didn’t respond.

Niles tried shaking her shoulder, “Claire?!”

But Claire was...somewhere else. She couldn’t hear him, or see him...

She was seeing a dark night, the edge of a train just like this one, feeling the rail slip out of her fingers as someone screamed for her far away...

But Niles didn’t understand that. All he knew was that they didn’t have time for this! They were coming up to the bank at any moment! There wasn’t time. They couldn’t go together. But there might be another bank just a little further down...

He turned to Fran, gesturing wildly, “Jump! Get off the train, now!”

“But what about you?!” came a screeched reply.

“There’s no time! We’ll catch up with you!”

Niles hoped his own words were true. But they’d convinced Fran enough – she screwed her eyes shut, gripped the handles of the cases she’d taken, and she jumped.

And Niles turned to Claire. There was only one idea he had in mind, and she wasn’t going to like it...

But it had to be done. It was only one step up from what he’d just done, too...!

“Sorry, Your Imperial Highness!”

In one swift move he lifted her back into his arms. If they were both going to make it off the train, they were going to have to do it together.

Just as he’d hoped, there was another soft meadow bank a few hundred meters ahead. It was, undoubtedly, the materialisation of their eleventh hour salvation. They couldn’t miss this chance, otherwise they might as well start praying for their souls!

“What are you doing?!” screeched Claire, digging her nails into Niles’ back. There was panic in her voice, and her heart felt as though it were about to burst out of her chest.

“Saving your life!” replied the former servant, “Now brace yourself, the fall is going to be hard!”

During the next few instants, time slowed down to a crawl. So much so that Claire wondered if it was moving at all.

She could see all with unique clarity – every atom of every molecule forming every little thing around her. She could see the rich greenery they were headed for, the shiny metal of the train’s carcass upon which the pale Polish sun shone, the rich vegetation acting as background, the gaping precipice awaiting for the train...

She could see everything, but she couldn’t hear. The blood was pounding in her ears and drowning everything out.

Still, she chose to shut her eyes the moment before they hit the ground.

She felt the impact when it came, and all the breath left her body in one go.

The blood pounding in her head let her know that she was alive without even needing to ask, and she and Niles rolled through the grass until the momentum wore off and they came to a halt.

Only then did Claire open her eyes.

She was met by a pair of bright blue ones staring straight back at her, and she felt safe enough to start catching her breath back.

“We...we did it...!” she gasped, the forest air flooding her lungs pleasantly.

Niles coughed out a laugh, “Yes...we did it, didn’t we?”

It was a few more moments of staring at her forming smile before he noticed he was still holding onto her. One arm around her waist and the other around her back, to be precise.

“Oh...! Um,” he began to disentangle himself from her, hoping that the heat on his cheeks came without a colour. “We’d better...go find Fran and the luggage...”

“Yeah... sure...” Claire mumbled, scrambling to her feet.

But she must have moved too fast, for Claire’s legs gave underneath her, and she fell face first to the floor...

Or she would have, had Niles not stopped her fall.

He picked her back up gently, still in his arms and eyes meeting his again. It felt like the perfect opportunity to say something, although it wasn’t obvious what that should be-

The moment was interrupted by a loud explosion, coming from the track. It made them spring apart, which was just as well because Fran had spotted them and was rushing over.

“You guys! You made it!” she cried, coming to put her arms around them both. And then she saw what they were looking at. “We...all made it...”

‘All’ meaning three of them out of a train full of people, Claire thought bitterly. All those people, who had homes, lives, families to go to...it was all gone in an instant.

They’d survived, but so many people’s futures had ended there and then, in an horrific crash that echoed across the hills, and a thick black plume of smoke that barrelled into the sky.

Niles must’ve noticed her expression and felt bad, because even though taking her hand would’ve been awkward given the circumstances, he patted at her upper arm.

“We did all make it,” he answered Fran. Then his eyes were also on Claire. “And we’re going to be alright, as well.”

He knew he was just doing his best to sound confident, but the look on Claire’s face told him that she both needed and appreciated the words.

And they all needed to get moving.

After another moment or two, he released her and began to gather the dropped luggage.

“But we’d better be on our way, if we’re going to find somewhere safe to rest tonight.”

That sounded like a good idea to both women, so they began to help him find the cases.

When they had gathered each one and all the loose items that had fallen from them, they set off near to the track, hoping to use it as a guide to a nearby town or village. Maybe there’d be an inn or some kind of boarding house they could stay at?

After what had just happened, they deserved more than a good meal and a proper bed, but they’d happily take those, too.

As long as they were safe, it almost didn’t even matter.

* * *

 

The entire scene was one of devastation and destruction, and Rasputin was relishing in it.

The ravine had claimed the train, just as he had planned. And now he was able to walk amongst the twisted metal and crushed carriages, seeking the one body he most longed to see broken at his feet.

He’d seen plenty of others, on his hunt amongst the wreckage. Men in suits drinking at the bar, highborn women taking tea, crew members going about their duties...all had succumbed to his power, and to the injuries his grand onslaught had inflicted.

But none of them were the missing Grand Duchess, so far. He’d come down to watch the carnage take place, but no matter how much his rotten chest swelled with pride at the sight of the lifeless bodies in the aftermath, his satisfaction was not complete.

It would never be complete, until Chastity-Claire, last remaining Romanov and the last rat in the nest, was dead at his feet.

Perhaps her body was trapped under wreckage? Or maybe parts of the ravine wall had come away and crushed her?

How fitting that a royal should get a tomb! But he needed to know for sure. When he knew for sure, no one on Earth would be able to stop him! The world would be his!

He summoned two bat-faced demons back to his side, and pointed along the wreckage that he knew he could not move by hand.

“Search for her,” he rasped. “Leave nothing unturned!”

With a series of unholy screeches, the two creatures obeyed. They swooped up and down the carriages, sniffing and turning over everything they could find.

But they returned without even a scrap of flesh in their claws.

_No..._

He knew she’d boarded that train! Her and those two clowns for con merchants that she called companions!

None of them were there. They’d escaped en-route!

Rasputin roared his fury, “No! No! You are not getting away from this, Romanova!”

She couldn’t have been too far away. They’d hunt her down, kill her companions in front of her, and then Rasputin would make her wish that she’d died in the train crash!

No… that she’d been gunned down and left to bleed with her family.

He pointed at the two demons again, “Smell her out, find her, and bring her to me! Her friends, too!”

Shrieking, the demons took to the air, and Rasputin watched them go, clenching his fist.

“Your time is running out, Your Highness...”


	8. Chapter 8

**_ Chapter 8 _ **

Grodno, Poland

July 1923

Claire had never thought in all her life that she could be actually, genuinely pleased to see a bus station. But after a week’s worth of travelling through the Polish countryside (and all the villages they found on the way), the next step in their plan was to get to Germany.

That was where the station came in. Or rather, where the bus that would leave from the station to take them to Germany came in.

Said bus was only a short distance away, and it was clear that Niles was eager to get on.

It wasn’t an unpleasant eagerness this time, though. Not like him getting impatient over a few small, stupid instances of not remembering everything perfectly!

This was a happy Niles that Claire could get behind.

“Come on, ladies,” he said in a singsong tone, carrying all he could towards the vehicle. “The next stage of our journey awaits!”

It certainly did, Claire thought. She stared down at the ticket in her hand as she moved. She’d always thought about going on a journey when she was little - more often than not, it was to find her family.

But the dream had always been happy. Full of laughter, warmth and love.

So why, when it was actually happening, did she feel oddly tense instead?

She wasn’t supposed to feel this way, was she? Then again, nothing that had happened to her on the journey she’d actually taken had happened in her dreams...was the world as terrifying as it had been everywhere?

Maybe Russia was somewhere safe for her? She could back out if she wanted – there had to be a bus heading in that direction that she could board instead. She’d tell Niles and Fran that she was very sorry but that she’d changed her mind. There wasn’t any chance of her being the real Grand Duchess and she’d decided to go home. She might even be allowed her old job back, with her old room and the hearty meals her employer insisted on feeding her.

It was not the exciting life of a royal, but it was a life she’d made for herself. No one had put her there, she’d worked for it. And _that_ thought made her feel at least ten times safer than getting on the bus to Germany, which was now looming menacingly just in front of her.

“Why’d ya stop, honey?”

Fran’s voice brought her out of her thoughts, and as Claire blinked around, she saw Niles looking at her in confusion, over by the door to the vehicle.

She hadn’t even noticed that she’d stopped walking!

She had to be five feet away from the bus, at most, but the short distance felt like the whole of the Sahara desert was standing between her and the bus, and that she’d have to cross it barefoot and without a drop of water at hand.

She couldn’t do this.

Who was she kidding?! She wasn’t the Grand Duchess! She couldn’t possibly be her, regardless of the physical similarities between the two of them. What had she been thinking?! Going to meet the former empress of Russia herself!

The woman wouldn’t give a toss. She was a royal who had no time for little lost peasant girls, and C.C.  had no desire to humiliate herself in front of the empress, nor did she want to make the older woman lose time.

No. This had been a huge mistake.

And she was still in time to make amends.

She was sure Niles and Fran would be disappointed, but they’d get over it.

So instead of apologising for daydreaming and picking up the slack to carry on, she dug her heels in more. Literally.

She had been physically dragged before, and she didn’t want it to happen again.

Eventually, she worked up the courage to answer question Fran had posed.

“I...I can’t do it, that’s why!”

“What?!”

Niles’ shout had almost the same volume as Fran’s shriek, despite being further away. He began to march over, but Fran held out an arm to halt him, and gestured towards the bus driver.

He’d clearly understood what she wanted – for him to hold the bus while she convinced Claire to get on board.

“Sweetie, what are ya talkin’ about?” she asked, catching up to her from a few feet behind. “We’re so close now, ya can’t give up!”

Yes she could, Claire thought. She’d never given up on anything in her life, but there had to be a first time for everything.

“What makes you think I can’t?” she countered the brunette’s question. “What’s waiting for me in Paris?!”

Fran blinked, her face momentarily becoming one of horror, “Oh, no...! Ya not losin’ it all again, are you?!”

Claire rolled her eyes, “No, I am not “losing it all again”!”

“Then what did ya mean?!”

Steel flashed in Claire’s eyes, “I mean that there isn’t gonna be anything waiting when I get there! We’ve been chased and hunted all the way, walked for miles, and we had to steal the luggage of dead people just to make sure we got through! And for what?! The Dowager Empress is gonna see right through us when she sees, and it’ll have all been for nothing! We’ll have all left our homes and nearly been killed or put in jail for nothing!”

Fran tried to hush Claire before she attracts any unwanted attention. They doubted the Polish around them understood anything she was saying, but they didn’t want to risk being questioned about their origin or the reason why they were traveling to Paris.

“Don’tcha say that!” tutted Fran, trying to lead the girl towards the bus. She could see Niles was asking the bus driver in broken Polish to wait for them just a little longer.

The look on the driver’s face suggested they had maybe five minutes. Probably even less...

“Why not?!” barked C.C., pushing Fran away and beginning to pace in small circles, “I’m obviously not her! If I were her, I would have remembered everything you told me!”

The bus driver had just given Niles an ultimatum – they had to get Claire on that bus. Now.

“Sweetie, I think yer overreacti–”

“Oh, am I?!” cried Claire, incensed, “Screw this! Screw remembering my great-grandmother Queen Victoria, my great-great-grandmother Princess Victoria of Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld, or horseback riding at age three, or cousin Vanya and his vodka, or Louise of Baden and her wart or the Duke of Oldenburg with his stupid hat and yellow cat!”

Fran had opened her mouth to say something – probably something to make her listen – back. But the words never came out. They’d been...well, kinda baffled into silence.

The Duke of Oldenburg had always worn the least-fashionable looking hat, but it was one that he insisted made him look divine. It had been one of the Duke’s quirks, along with always having a cat around him. A bright yellow cat.

But...but...

“Wait a second; we never told you about that,” Fran eventually said, coming out of her thoughtfulness. “I specifically remember not telling you about it!”

Well, if she hadn’t told then there was only one person left who could’ve done it!

Fran turned on Niles, “Did you tell her about the Duke of Oldenburg already?!”

Even from a distance away, Claire knew Niles would be rolling his eyes and groaning in frustration. In his mind, there wasn’t time for this and the bus driver was probably ready to either kick him off or drive off with him, leaving them behind.

But he came to the very edge of the bus door anyway, “What was that?!”

“The Duke of Oldenburg! Why’d ya tell Claire when we agreed not to?!”

Claire saw more of his expression then. He looked...annoyed? Confused?

“I didn’t tell her about him!” Niles shouted.

“Then how does she know who he is, Niles?! How does she remember a little yellow cat?!”

Something about that struck Niles.

How did Claire know? The Duke hadn’t been much of a man for going out on the town, especially in his later years. And then the cat...to know about the cat, you would’ve had to have been in the palace where it lived!

Was it possible that she really was...?

He shook himself out of it, all the while his mind scolding him to not be so ridiculous. His beloved had died that night, and someone had taken her body. He couldn’t change that, and no matter how much he wanted to hope for something different, it wasn’t going to happen.

Sometimes people just had to live without love. And sometimes there were simple explanations for what appeared to be difficult questions.

And the simple explanation must have been truly simple. He didn’t remember the occasion at all, but he must’ve mentioned the Duke and his cat to Claire in passing, not thinking about how the information would stay with her.

But he still didn’t remember a thing about it!

Not that there was any time for standing around questioning it or making excuses. The bus driver was giving him one of those looks that meant he was about to drive on no matter who was left on board.

There was only one thing for it. He was going to have to lie - to Fran and to Claire. The former would stop asking about it loudly like this and the latter might be convinced into getting on the bus...

So, feigning (well, he thought to himself) a shocked look and a gasp, he addressed his friends.

“I...we never told you about that!” he exclaimed to Claire. “Is...is it possible that your memory is returning, Your Imperial Highness?”

He risked a small wink at Fran that went unnoticed by Claire – she was currently too shocked to pay attention to the two crooks.

She... she’d remembered? She’d actually remembered...? But... but how?! She couldn’t be the Duchess... or could she? What other explanation was there to it? If neither Niles nor Fran had told her about it, then there was only one possibility left...

A possibility she hadn’t entirely believed to be real until then.

She was the Duchess.

She _had_ to be.

There was no other option.

And if she was the Duchess, then her grandmother really was waiting for her in Paris! She had a home, loved ones, and a past that she longed to dive into! She’d never go hungry, or be lonely, and soon enough the nightmares would be behind her.

There was no reason to go back on another potentially dangerous journey to Russia. She might’ve had a job back there, but it was nothing like knowing where you belonged, or being surrounded by the ones who loved you and had missed you for years...

She took a shaky but eager step forward, “I...I think it might be...!”

Niles started his mouth down the path to a beaming grin, “Then we had better be going, had we not?”

Of course, he was right. It would be so impolite of her to keep her grandmother waiting any longer than was necessary, and she was holding them all up!

So, apologising a few times, she hurried towards the bus door. Niles stepped out of the way, giving her a bow as she got on board. Fran followed not long after, and Niles dumped a few coins down to pay for their tickets.

His Polish might not have been fully up to scratch, but he could’ve sworn the man muttered “It’s about time...”

At any rate, there were more than enough seats for them to collapse into, and there was plenty of room for their luggage down by their feet. That might have to change during the journey, but for the time being, they were as comfortable as could be.

The engine of the bus spluttered a little before it roared into life, and the driver shut the door firmly after it was clear he wasn’t going to have any last-last-minute passengers. And then, at long last, he pulled the bus away from the station.

They were going. They were finally on their way to Germany!

Fran and Niles exchanged an excited grin. The next phase of the plan had worked! Granted, they’d had a setback in the form of the horrible train accident, but they’d worked around it and gotten through!

And Claire was obvious to their joined thoughts. Her own mind was still occupied with her family. What would her grandmother be like? Would they share the same interests, or dislike the same things? Would there be a noticeable family resemblance?

She couldn’t wait to find out, and all thoughts of returning to Russia faded away.

* * *

 

Maxwell genuinely enjoyed getting mail. There was always a chance that some of it would be for him, rather than for the Dowager Empress Marie, and if it was, it was usually from Fran.

His Fran, whom he would’ve married by now, had her mother not been a maid, and had her parents’ marriage not been morganatic. He missed her, and regretted deeply that he hadn’t been able to bring her out of Russia with him.

But they corresponded regularly, and even though they hadn’t spoken for a while (which felt in his lovelorn heart to be even longer than it had), her latest letter was now safe in his hands.

He could smell her perfume, and he tore into the envelope as eagerly as one could without wanting to damage the letter inside.

He unfolded the paper, and began to read.

And the more he read, the more he found himself in a sitting position, until eventually he collapsed into a chair.

She had...found the lost Grand Duchess Chastity-Claire?!

But it couldn’t be possible, could it?!

He read on, scarcely believing a word. But Fran wouldn’t lie to him, or be making a joke in such poor taste – she knew how important this was, and how much time had gone into searching for Her Imperial Highness!

If it was true – and that truly was a big if – Her Imperial Majesty would be over the moon! At long last, she could have her girl with her, just like she’d always wanted! All they had to do was get out of Russia – if it could be arranged.

Maxwell began to smile at the thought as he read. His love coming to Paris, and bringing the girl – no, young woman – that they’d been...

They’d...already started making their way to Paris?! Fran, Her perhaps-Imperial Highness, and...some man named...Niles.

Maxwell suddenly felt himself deflate. The household had already been warned about the disgraced Prince Niles, and his scheme to find a young woman to pretend to be the Grand Duchess.

Well, having a positive feeling in regards to the search had been nice, while it lasted. But the man was a con, and that was all that needed to be said. It wouldn’t be her.

Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. What was he going to do? They were already on their way, they wanted an audience, and (as selfish as it was) even though he knew it couldn’t possibly be the Grand Duchess, he wanted to see Fran.

Perhaps he could let them in, but insist on seeing the young woman for himself first? He could ask her questions she wouldn’t be able to answer, and that would prove her a fake without having to upset the Dowager Empress!

Yes, that would save everyone the trouble!

He might even be able to make it so that Fran could stay with him, once everything was over! They could finally settle and be together, without repercussions (if Her Imperial Majesty had no qualms), and everything could be right for the two of them at last.

And as for the other two...well, Niles would be out on his ear into the street as soon as his latest con was proved! Hopefully he’d then go away and perhaps learn that criminals and liars never got to prosper.

The girl, on the other hand...well, Maxwell had no answer for what a girl who had no real relation to Her Imperial Majesty would do once she was turned away. She had no right to stay, but Maxwell couldn’t help but be moved at the possibility that she might’ve been conned by Niles as well.

He shook it off. The girl would probably know what she was doing, and be expecting a share of the reward. She’d go along with Niles, and maybe try their story on some other rich and well-meaning woman with a hurting heart.

He’d put a stop to it in that house, though. His questions would be so specific to the Grand Duchess that no one but the original Chastity-Claire would know!

Doing it all behind Her Imperial Majesty’s back seemed...more than a little underhanded. But it had to be done. He wasn’t going to both her with con artists that would only waste her time and chip away another little piece of her hope and faith.

He’d seen too much of that over the years, and he wasn’t going to see it happen again.

Maxwell folded Fran’s letter with care and tucked into his pocket. Later, he would store it in his study, alongside all the other letters she’d sent him over the years. There weren’t many, admittedly, but he knew just how hard it was to slip anything past the Soviets’ iron grip and exhaustive controls. His beloved had mentioned the growing Soviet menace and the looming threat of death should anyone voice their dissent with the way they were running the country.

Maxwell shuddered – he still remembered the night where they’d seized power. He’d been away, in the countryside, which had allowed him to hide until the worst had passed. In record time he and the rest of his family had packed up and left Russia, never to return.

It still hurt to think about it – all the friends he’d lost, the fact he’d never be able to return to his homeland, the fact the life he’d been used to would never be the same. Yes, he was still an aristocrat and Paris had certainly been kind to him and many other Russian nobles, but it wasn’t enough.

He missed the great parties, he missed his land and his workers (even if some of the latter had revolted against him), he missed Russia…

Or, at least, he missed the Russia he’d been raised in.

Soviet Russia was despicable to him, and the tyrants in power were the worst traitors.

They’d killed the Tsar, and slaughtered his whole family, too! How could anyone wish to follow the same principles as such a group, he would never know and could more than likely never understand.

If only one of them had survived! They could have been at the palace, not having this discussion and probably taking tea with the young Tsar or Tsarina, who’d of course be traumatised but they’d have their doting grandmother and their loyal servants to look after them...

The Romanovs had always fought their way through anything, and there was always some family member hiding out there that the public had all but forgotten!

It was surely not the girl that Niles was due to bring! No, she had to be a complete stranger to the whole family, no matter what Fran’s letter said!

No matter how much he wished the opposite were true, looking into the parlour and seeing Her Imperial Majesty looking so defeated and alone.

But he couldn’t change the truth, no matter how much he wanted to. And so that his friend could move on and start to experience the grief she’d delayed for far too long already, he’d see to it that this latest girl never laid eyes on the Dowager Empress.

It didn’t matter (in this regard) that Fran was his beloved. She was good and kind at heart and she wasn’t to know the ways of a conman. She’d been caught up in it all, that was all, and he just had to show her the mistake. No harm would be done, and they’d get the happily ever after they’d almost been denied.

Checking on Marie once more, he noticed that the woman was sleeping soundly in her chair. The events – ranging from that day to years gone by – were taking their toll and exhausting her.

At least it would only be one young woman that his questions would reach (Niles, if present, would not be allowed to answer them even by accident). The stress would not be enough to take its toll and be impacted by it.

He might’ve been able to see right through the ruse, but he didn’t want to be overly and needlessly cruel in his questioning method. Part of him still thought the girl needed to be given the benefit of the doubt, because she could surprise everybody. The rest said no, she wasn’t to be trusted and deserved what she got.

But all of him agreed that he could at least try for Fran.

So, leaving his employer to rest with a blanket across her lap, he began to perform some small tasks all over and around the house.

It could only be a few days at the most before their friends arrived!


	9. Chapter 9

**_ Chapter 9 _ **

Konigsberg, Germany

July 1923

It felt like they’d been waiting for at least the whole day and it was starting to tick Claire off more than a little bit.

She and Fran had been stood (and sat, and stood again…) with the luggage while Niles went and bought them their ferry tickets to take them from Germany to France, and he’d been gone longer than an acceptable amount of time! Where could he have been?!

Was he hurt, maybe? Had he maybe slipped and fallen? Had somebody gotten to him, like a mugger, perhaps? It would be just like their trip for another disaster to happen...

A dark part of her wanted to think that he’d run off and left them there (perhaps having been distracted by some kind of better offer), and she couldn’t quite shake off the irritation that left deep in her chest.

She took the time to sit down again as best she could, on a little stretch of wall near where Niles had told them he “wouldn’t be long”.

Fran noticed her sour mood, and patted her shoulder reassuringly, “He’ll be back any minute now, honey – we’re not gonna miss this boat, I can tell ya that!”

Well, the comfort was nice but the reason behind it was a little misguided. Claire was impatient to get on the ferry as well, of course, but things had been...better between her and Niles recently. They were still bickering around the clock, but it felt friendlier. More playful.

She was annoyed by the thought of him abandoning them and going off when things were just starting to get good.

But still, she appreciated Fran’s words, and she offered her a quick smile.

She might’ve been about to say thank you, when Fran’s eyes were drawn away from her, over her shoulder. They widened.

“Ooh! There ‘e is, now! What’s he carryin’...?”

With relief falling in her insides like a shower of much-needed rain in a drought, C.C. turned and peered in the direction Fran was looking.

Niles was approaching. It was impossible to tell if he was carrying the tickets or not, because his hands were full...with a newly bought dress?

They stood up again as he approached. The closer he got, the more it was possible to see a beaming smile on his face.

“Did ya get the tickets?” was the first question out of Fran’s mouth.

“I did,” Niles replied with a proud nod. “They’re tucked up in my pocket.”

“And the dress...?” Claire pointed at his unexpected purchase. “Tell us you’re not gonna smuggle yourself aboard as an old, very ugly woman!”

Niles looked unimpressed, “In actual fact, I was going to give this dress to you.”

That took Claire aback to the point where she nearly stumbled over the little wall.

The dress...was for her? She looked, gaping, between it and Niles, hoping for some sort of explanation.

“I figured you might need new clothes to meet your grandmother,” Niles continued, gesturing at Claire with the dress. “So I took the liberty of buying this dress for you, Your Imperial Highness.”

Oh...

Claire blinked. She hadn’t imagined that Niles - or, well, anyone really - would ever buy her anything as a gift, let alone something as nice as the dress!

Niles held it out to her, staging a low bow. It looked different to the comical ones he usually gave her.

Hesitantly, she reached out and took the dress in her arms. She admired the fabric and stroked it with her fingers.

When she looked back up at Niles it was with a hint of a smile.

“Uh...thank you, Niles...this was a lovely gesture,” she said. Before realising just how awkward that sounded. “At least, as long as it’s not full of spiders or anything...”

Niles took on a feigned look of offence, straightening up.

“Your Imperial Highness! I would never!” he cried. Then he appeared to think, and reached out for the dress again. “If you don’t want or like the dress, I can simply–”

Claire pulled it away before he could take it, “You’ll do no such thing!”

Niles let his hands drop, and he grinned.

“That’s just what I thought,” he said. He then reached into his inner pocket and pulled out three tickets. “Anyway, I see no sense in standing around any longer. How about we all get on board?”

The two women liked the sound of that and bent down to pick up their cases. Fran stopped Claire, however, telling her to just focus on carrying the dress.

They then made their way towards the ship, showing their tickets to the guard at the port as they went in.

It was a huge relief to get on board, and to be able to dump their luggage in their cabins – that was another thing: Niles had gotten them separate cabins. They wouldn’t have been able to afford it had they not found a rather important amount of money inside one of the cases they’d heisted from the luggage cart of the train.

Fran gave a low whistle as she looked around, “This is the fanciest setup we’ve seen in a while!”

It was actually the nicest room Claire ever remembered having (the train cabin didn’t really count, because it had no beds), but she wasn’t about to say that. Her room at the bakery came a close second, because it was warm and came with an actual bed, but it couldn’t quite compete with the cabin. It couldn’t compete with the room that was going to take her to France, and get her one step closer to Paris, where her grandmother waited...

She looked down at the dress she was still carrying, and realised it was the second time she’d been grateful to him that day – the first one being when he got them Second Class tickets rather than Third Class ones (she suspected that, apart from having paid for the tickets, he must have pulled some strings and schmoozed the ticket-seller to get them separate Second Class cabins on such short notice). Again, not that she’d say so – the man would be insufferable about it for the rest of the journey, and probably well into the future!

That was, if she saw either him or Fran again after meeting her real family-

The thought was interrupted by a set of dark eyes and a beaming smile appearing in front of her.

“Ya gotta put it on, sweetie!” the brunette said excitedly, ushering her behind the room’s privacy screen. “We’ve gotta see how it looks! Come on - you put it on, I’ll watch the door ta make sure no one comes in.”

Laughing at the woman’s reaction, Claire did as she was told.

The fabric of the new dress was so soft, and it fit perfectly over her slender frame. It was incredible how well it had been chosen! She could move freely in it, and it didn’t itch at all!

She was busy watching her skirts twirl when she heard a knock at the door before it immediately opened. That was then followed by a high-pitched shriek from Fran and a set of shoes hurrying across the floor, before hands slammed against wood.

“Ya can’t come in, Niles!”

“What?” Niles’ voice sounded muffled, as though the door was on the verge of being closed again. “Why not?”

“Her Imperial Highness is tryin’ on the dress ya bought!” Fran replied. “I’m defendin’ her honour!”

Claire bit down on her lip to stop herself from spluttering with laughter at Fran’s insistence.

“It’s alright, Fran,” she called to them. “I’m already dressed.”

“Oh,” Fran’s voice was followed by the sound of a door opening. “I guess ya can come in then, in that case...”

Two sets of footsteps made their way into the room, one pausing briefly to close the door.

“Alright, Yer Imperial Highness. It’s that time,” Fran declared. “Come on out, let’s see how ya look!”

Again, Claire did as she was told.

And Niles had to do everything in his power to stop his jaw from dropping and hanging open. He could consider himself lucky that he hadn’t still got his suitcase with him, because he would’ve dropped that as well and suddenly the last thing he wanted to do was embarrass himself in front of...in front of...

Not “this girl”. That title was hardly appropriate when “this woman” fit so much better, like the dress that slipped over her body – like water slipped over the rocks of a waterfall. It suited her perfectly, and the smile stretching from ear to ear on her face told everyone how pleased she was for it...

His thoughts were only interrupted by Fran loudly producing what could only be a squeal and clutching at her heart.

“Oh, Yer Imperial Highness! You look beautiful!”

“Beautiful” was an understatement, but Niles couldn’t make the thought move from his brain to the mouth that was failing him as Claire walked towards him and Fran.

The blonde even gave them a twirl for good measure, “You like it?”

“I love it!” Fran was at her side in no time at all, looking over the cut and the colour, and every detail in between. “It suits you better than...well, anythin’ I’ve ever seen a woman wearin’ before in my whole life!”

The brunette then turned to Niles. He knew what she was about to do, and he begged his brain to get back into gear and please, dear God, form a coherent sentence!

“Whaddya think, Niles?”

And there it was. His cue to behave like a rational person, and not some gibbering idiot whose IQ depended on whether or not someone else in the area was wearing a skirt.

His brain decided to come out of it slowly, but that was better than nothing.

“Ah, yes...beautiful...you look.”

Both Fran and C.C. exchanged an amused look and Niles mentally kicked himself. “ _Beautiful you look_ ”? What was he? An inarticulate buffoon? Or maybe a prehistoric Neanderthal? Either way his flair for words had been notoriously absent.

Not wanting to lose any more face in front of the two women – who were smirking at him – and finding the feeling of his boiling hot face rather unpleasant, he cleared his throat and, needing to find something to do with his hands, tucked them into his jacket pocket.  He barely noticed he’d begun to rock himself on his heels.

“Aha,” hummed C.C., arms crossed over her chest and amused smirk etched on her face, “Thank you for your compliment, sir.”

“Uh... yeah... don’t mention it.  Anyway I... I’ll... uh... go up on deck,” he stammered, pointing over his shoulder, towards the entrance to the cabin. “I think they’ll start serving dinner soon and I... uh... I’ll be going now…”

He gave a few paces backwards as he spoke, feeling the uncomfortable heat expanding and overtaking most of his body – his face was probably beetroot at this point.

He had to get out of there before they mentioned it. He was already humiliated enough as it was, and he didn’t think he could stand any more.

Not that he knew what he’d do once he’d had enough. Probably just overheat and then melt into a human puddle. And, in all honesty, it didn’t sound like such a bad Plan B idea.

Especially seeing as Claire was still looking at him, this time apparently eyeing his feet in particular. Now, what could she possibly want? Surely she’d let him go peacefully now that she and Fran had had a good laugh over his...predicament (all the while giving a certain amount of thanks to God for not showing any more of his “predicament”)?

He needed to go before that happened. But he couldn’t refuse the “princess” if she wanted him to stay.

“Yes, Your Imper–?” the words came out rasped, from his throat so rapidly turning into a desert. He coughed, swallowed and rectified the problem. “I-I mean, yes, Your Imperial Highness? Is something wrong with my feet?”

It was the first thing out of his mouth that had the most made sense in a while. And Claire wasn’t laughing (Fran still was, quietly to herself, but she was trying to calm herself down).

“No, sir. Your feet are actually rather _sprightly_ , compared to the rest of you,” she grinned. “If you use them and hurry, you might get to the head of the cafeteria line.”

Niles’ mouth opened and closed one, two, three times...

But he said nothing. Nothing at all.

It was a most comical sight for Claire, who up until that moment had never seen Niles completely speechless. Yes, she’d won plenty of their little verbal sparring matches countless times, but she’d never left him speechless. If anything, he would make a tactical retreat with a grumbled comment under his breath or a pointed glare and a sharp “fine” on the side, but this time...

This time he merely left.

Mouth shut, hands tucked inside his pockets, face the colour of the new Soviet flag and eyes cast to the floor as he turned on his heels and hurried out of the room.

Both Claire’s and Fran’s eyes followed him until the door shut, and they were left to themselves.

Fran blinked, “Well, that was...a little weird...”

Claire didn’t want to disagree, but something in her wanted to take it further than that. It wasn’t just “a little weird” to her, it was completely unusual! Strange, even!

Niles – usually so calm and collected, even under pressure – hurrying out of there, blushing like a schoolboy who’d just managed to pluck up the courage to give a flower to his first crush!

Even the analogy made Claire feel awkward, though. She’d seen how Niles had been behaving since seeing her in her new dress, but that didn’t mean anything, did it? Men got like that over women all the time, it didn’t necessarily mean anything...!

But she couldn’t help remembering the look on his face. Back when he’d been gaping, before she’d zinged him.

He’d been stunned – stunned by her! That was why he’d seemed so awkward!

She’d found it funny. She couldn’t believe that she’d found it funny! Had she not noticed then what was going on, or had she simply chosen to ignore it?!

She didn’t know what to think. If it was the former, she might be excused – apart from disgusting remarks (that occasionally bordered threatening) as she went about her business, she had no experience of dealing with male interest. If this was truly that.

If she had known what was going on but had chosen to ignore it...well, she couldn’t exactly suddenly “realise” what had happened, could she? How uncomfortable would that conversation be? “Niles, I’m sorry I made fun of you back in the cabin – I didn’t know how to handle the fact that you clearly like me in my new dress” wasn’t exactly the ideal way to break the ice, was it?

If it was that second one, she had to keep up the pretence until they’d moved past it. It would be more comfortable than doing anything else!

Niles couldn’t know that she knew. Or, that she had figured out that he… oh, whatever! She was going to keep her mouth shut about it and pretend it had all gone away.

It would go away. Niles had just been surprised, that was all – it wasn’t real interest. As soon as he got used to her looking that way, they’d be back at the zingers, like usual.

Luckily, Fran’s reaction kept her in that frame of mind. The brunette knew what had happened was out of the ordinary, ergo, there was an ordinary that they could go back to.

 _Would_ go back to. C.C. would start that process right then and there.

“Yeah...” she mumbled. Not her strongest acting ever, for someone who was desperately trying to pretend she didn’t know what was going on. “Weird...”

It was a relief that Fran didn’t seem to pick up on it, and she waved her hands dismissively as she started to go about her business in the cabin, putting away luggage and checking on a few select items.

“Well, I’m sure he’ll get over it. He’s probably overworked himself into a kinda exhaustion. But we’re on board now, we can take some time off runnin’ all over the place and let ourselves relax.”

That sounded like a plan! One that would mean some much-needed time away from Niles and the added bonus of being able to tour the ship that would be their home for the next few days.

“Sounds like fun,” C.C. said timidly.

“Let’s get goin’ then!” replied a noticeably livelier Fran moments before looping her arm through C.C.’s and pulling her along and out of their cabin.

* * *

 

“Would you like some more wine, sir?”

The waiter’s question made Niles start — he’d been lost in thought. He looked around, taking in the previously blurred and fused surroundings as they became more defined. He was sat at one of the main restaurant’s outside tables; an empty glass of wine sat right in front of him, as did an empty packet of cigarettes. When had he smoked them all? He wasn’t a regular smoker...

It must have been some time in the last few hours, but he couldn’t remember any of it to be certain! He couldn’t even blame it on the wine – as strong as the stuff was, it’d take more than a glass to get him that out of it!

Although, after what had happened, being out of it didn’t seem like such a bad idea...

He allowed the waiter to pour the wine, considering asking him to simply leave the carafe he’d been serving it from, but thinking better of it at the last moment.

But as soon as he picked the glass up to continue drowning his sorrows (and his awkward embarrassments, such as they were), he could only stare at it.

He couldn’t bring himself to get as drunk as it took to keep the feelings at bay! And that had been the only thing he could think to do – the only thing that gave him a distraction, from the humiliation he’d suffered back in the cabin!

She’d seen him stare and then go as red as a cooked lobster...she was never going to let him live it down!

That was, if he could ever live with himself! How could he do this to his beloved – the one person he said he would always love like nobody else? He was slowly betraying her, little by little, and he hadn’t been able to stop himself!

He was a cad. A bounder and a cad, who’d never deserved such a beautiful love in the first place! Even if Claire was also sweet and kind, witty and intelligent...stunning...

And there he was, doing it again! What the hell was wrong with him?!

He’d had women before — heck, he’d been a regular at St Petersburg’s brothels — but he’d never ever felt anything for them. Those girls, although pretty, were only distractions, meant to satisfy carnal needs. His heart had belonged and would always belong to the Grand Duchess Chastity-Claire. He’d promised this silently to himself the night he’d saved her and her grandmother from the revolutionaries.

He’d had no problem whatsoever to keep his promise to her — actually, it was one of the few he hadn’t broken — but since meeting Claire...

Since meeting Claire… _what_?

They had a thing going — a well-established routine of playful insults and witty zingers. There was a rhythm to it; a pace they followed. Sometimes she was infuriating — her attitude, her hard-headedness, her clever retorts that would leave him utterly speechless and made him feel like a jabbering idiot...

He’d thought her to be a bit of a necessary evil, but the longer he knew her, the more he grew to like the young spitfire of a woman that would have to pass as the only one he’d vowed to love...

And the more he thought about it, the worse he felt. Dressing Claire up as his beloved and making her talk and act like her?! What kind of sick whim had allowed him to do that?!

The very thought was suddenly making him feel ill. Claire wasn’t the Grand Duchess, and he was trying to put her in her shoes...

She wasn’t a replacement. You couldn’t replace the truly important people in your life, whether they were there anymore or not!

He forced himself to have some of the wine, hoping it might do something else with his stomach. It didn’t – if anything, it made the sickness feel worse.

He deserved to feel worse. He’d betrayed the one person he’d promised to never move on from, and allowed another woman to take her place in the eyes of everybody on the planet, practically...

He didn’t know if that was a worse betrayal than letting himself like Claire or not. They seemed to come hand in hand, in his head, ready to make him despair at a moment’s notice.

But what on Earth could he do about either of them? Apart from smoking and drinking, both of which, he was starting to realise, really didn’t seem to help in the situation at all?

Still, he figured that drowning his sorrows in alcohol was better than bluntly facing the ugly truth. Grasping the glass’ stem in his hand, he downed the last of his wine and indicated for a nearby waiter to pour him another.

This time, he also asked for the carafe to be left there, and for a nice snack to be brought to his table, as well as a brand-new packet of Lucky Strike, which he tore open the moment it was given to him.

Eating, smoking and drinking weren’t going to solve his dilemma, but they sure as hell served to briefly distract him from his troubling (guilty) thoughts.

Claire couldn’t be thought about as a woman, he told himself as he lighted a new cigarette and took a long drag on it. She was a tool — a cog in the machine. A vital cog, yes, but a cog nonetheless. He needed the money, desperately, and this was the way to get it.

It weighed on him, of course, no matter how he tried to put it — it made him feel guilty. So bloody guilty...

Why couldn’t he be a bit more like his father in that regard? The bastard had squandered their family’s wealth and, when things got nasty, he’d taken off with the first young thing that had crossed his way, leaving his sons and wife to deal with the consequences of his acts. Niles hated the man, but he sort of admired his capacity to continue living without having any sense of repentance for what he’d done. His conscience simply didn’t exist — the moment was now and people were tools, and that was that.

It would make all of Niles’ life so much easier, if he could just learn to be like that! No more caring about other people’s feelings – heck, no more thinking of other people as people! Everybody else he saw, he would have something to gain from, without giving anything back in return...

And he wouldn’t care. Not one jot.

But it was impossible. It made him crease up inside with guilt, even thinking about it!

He could hear his father laughing at him about it in his head, too. About how he’d always been weak and had never wanted to have any fun. And now look at him...

He truly was pathetic, wasn’t he? Sat there, unable to deal with any of the feelings going on in his head and pushing them back like that would solve anything!

Although, his mind was grasping for alternatives. At least his current three vices were within reach and were keeping him from falling completely into a pit he’d never climb out of!

So he grabbed some more of the food that he’d ordered and swallowed it down, followed by a gulp of wine. He was starting to feel a little more lightheaded, but he had a long way to go before he’d stop feeling anything at all for a while...

It certainly wasn’t enough yet to keep out the noise and the movement of all the couples dancing on the deck. The ship itself was rather luxurious (it had been very lucky of them to find so much money in one of their ill-gotten cases, otherwise they’d have had to have taken a more economical, less comfortable ship), and the young rich couples had taken advantage of the space available.

Rich couples, he thought to himself bitterly. He looked at them, and he saw how his life had been before all the troubles began. And how it all might’ve been, had his father not tossed them aside like unwanted toys and given it to some giggling little piece on the side...

They knew nothing of what it was to go without. They had their wealth still and weren’t going to lose it because of their bastard fathers. They only had one love, and no complications...not like his complications, anyway...

His eyes scanned the crowd, and all the smiling faces of people having fun...of Claire having...

Wait a minute, what?! _Claire_?!

He blinked hard to clear his vision, but she was still there. Beautiful as ever and being twirled by some...muscular young man! He was...certainly handsome, with a charming grin and a spark in his eye...

Niles hated his guts already.

The pair looked like they were having a good time, and that made him burn up more than throwing wine down his neck into his already tempestuous stomach did.

Who did this man think he was, just asking a woman he didn’t know to dance?!He can’t have met her before - there was no way!

He was probably a wealthy playboy of some sort. Maybe a businessman’s heir, or a noble of some kind who hadn’t been displaced. He was probably going around all the girls, too, trying to figure out who had the least experience, to look for an easy bit of fun to take back to his cabin (or suite, because God forbid he only had one room to himself!) for the night...

Niles knew the sort. In certain places he’d been the sort (as much as he could’ve been, with practically no money) – but here, he wasn’t going to let this stranger just come along and sweep Claire off her feet (even for a short while)!

He had to get over there. Ask her to dance (not even give the slick charmer the satisfaction of asking if he could cut in), and then...

And then he’d see. He had no plan, other than that. The most important part was the dancing.

So, he rose (slightly unsteadily) to his feet, and started to make his way over.

She saw him coming, confused and maybe a little concerned, but she didn’t stop dancing. He wondered how pathetically drunk he looked, even if he wasn’t drunk – not yet, anyway, the night was young. He probably smelled terrible, too, after all those cigarettes...

And yet it didn’t stop him, even though she was beautiful, her dance partner looked like he could give her everything, and he was...just a mess.

“Claire? Might I be allowed to have a dance? With you, I mean...”

The way he added that at the end made him want to kick himself, but he couldn’t lose face in front of Claire’s would-be charmer. He had to stand his ground.

And if he was humiliated again, he was sure he could flag down another waiter - they’d certainly have retrieved the carafe he’d been commandeering by now...

He kept his expectant look on Claire (well, he hoped it wasn’t too expectant, he didn’t want to make her think he was pressuring her, even if he wanted her to know that he really wanted to dance with her), even as the other man took a step forward, folding his arms and looking intimidating.

“Wait a second, who the hell are you?” the man demanded to know.

It would’ve succeeded in being intimidating to most. But the wine had given Niles something akin to Dutch courage, and he wasn’t going to back down just because someone who thought himself so superior was the one trying to get his hands on Claire!

If anything, it made him want to fight harder.

He puffed out his chest and took on a defiant look, “I’m the man she is travelling with. Not that I owe you any kind of an explanation.”

That visibly ticked off the other man, but Claire had to bite down on the inside of her lip.

She couldn’t help being...oddly amused by how Niles was behaving. It wasn’t like him at all, to do something like that - she didn’t think she’d actually seen him dance once!

But he’d come over and asked her so...sweetly...

And then he’d immediately stepped up to face the more-than-slightly boring man she’d been dancing with!

It was so...protective...

There had never been a man in the life that she could remember, in any capacity. Not until he’d come along – if that was the right way of describing how she’d kind of stumbled into his and Fran’s lives...

She’d never imagined that a man could be so protective. Not like he was being right then - obviously, she’d seen it before when he’d taken her to leap from the train - but this felt different.

And it...it was warming, to her. It made her feel safe, in a weird kind of way that she’d never imagined before.

Between it being so endearing and the way he was so determined to defend her from this other man that she hadn’t even found out the name of yet, there was only one possible answer that she could give to his request.

She – cautiously and carefully, not wanting him to think too much about what had happened before – put her hand on his shoulder.

“I’d love to dance with you, Niles.”

The “L” word was out before she could really stop it, but she hoped it would get caught up in her acceptance and he wouldn’t notice it.

He certainly noticed that she’d agreed. His face lit up brighter than the sun, and it warmed her again inside.

Not that she could say so to him outright, even if the smile on her face was (embarrassingly) getting wider at his expression...

It was the almost opposite reaction to how her previous dance partner suddenly looked. His previously wide smile had dropped, and he now looked annoyed.

Annoyed that she’d drop him for some apparent nobody in no time, just because he’d asked.

“Hey! That’s not fair – what about me?!” he tried to barge past Niles to face Claire. “I was with you first!”

The man’s arrogant tone and fierce insistence irritated Niles. Claire had already said that she wanted to dance with him – the other man had had his turn! It was time for him to learn that when a woman had made up her mind, he had to respect that!

He took another step towards the man, stopping him from getting completely in Claire’s face by blocking him.

Whatever happened, he wasn’t going to let this pig hurt Claire. She hadn’t done anything wrong by wanting to dance with someone else!

Especially not if that someone else was him.

“Technically, sir, she was here with me first,” he told the other man sternly, bringing his arm up to his chest. “But that doesn’t matter, because either way, she’s made her decision–”

“Don’t touch me!” the other man snapped, shoving Niles’ arm away. “Who the hell do you think you are?!”

“Who the hell do _you_ think you are, to get in a woman’s personal space because she said no to you?” Niles retorted sharply. “She isn’t yours to make decisions for!”

Claire held her breath, feeling protected by Niles again, but at the same time worrying about what the other man might do. She didn’t want a fight happening over something as small as this, especially when it could’ve been avoided!

Although, something fluttered oddly in her stomach, when Niles had mentioned her being...anyone’s. Not that he’d meant it that way, of course!

The mere thought just...sent an odd buzzing through her.

That was immediately quelled when the man she’d unfortunately chosen to dance with narrowed his eyes at Niles.

“What? So she’s yours?” he asked, more than a hint of threat in his voice. “You make all the decisions?”

Niles gritted his teeth — Claire wasn’t his, and he certainly had no business choosing who she could or couldn’t dance with. That was her call to make. His job, however, was to ensure that her choices in the matter were respected.

After all, wasn’t she the supposed Grand Duchess Chastity-Claire? Wasn’t he supposed to treat her as royalty?

This little self-important, beau wannabe was getting too big for his boots and was overstepping a line. When a lady said no, then that was that. There was no arguing about it. If even Niles himself – aka, the Grand Poohbah of Cadland – could understand and abide by that, then so could this bourgeoise pig.

“I don’t believe one person makes decisions for another,” he replied carefully. His voice was low, signifying how ready he was to prove himself in a fight if need be. “Try getting that into your skull.”

“The only thing heading for a skull will be my fist, if you don’t clear off right now,” the other man growled. “I was busy here and you’re ruining it all!”

That made rage flare up in Niles’ chest. So, the man really had been trying his best to weasel his way into Claire’s undergarments!

It was only the presence of the woman herself that stopped him from punching the pig out right then and there!

If she was supposed to be the Grand Duchess, she would not be one for violence.

Although, she wouldn’t exactly be the type to simply watch as her honour was insulted, either! Surely she’d expect him to do something about that?

Part of Niles hoped she’d ask, because after the other man’s little confession, he wanted to hurt him even more than he had done when he’d first seen him.

She wanted to rush in – to break it right up and to somehow get it through to this other man that she was not some toy that he could simply pick up and play with, whenever he wanted!

That was the way he seemed to be treating all women, just currently...

But just as it looked like Niles might challenge him to an actual fight (or else take him by surprise and hit him first), another pair of heeled shoes clicked over, and another brunette head appeared in the conversation.

Fran! Had she been a witness to the whole thing?!

“Alright, you two!” Her voice sounded like she meant business, and she began trying to usher everyone around her off in different directions. “Break it up, now! There’s nothin’ to see here!”

But the man she’d truly been hoping to get rid of simply turned his angry glare on her, after it had warmed up using Niles and Claire...

“I will do as I please, woman. And that includes finishing the rest of the dance that I am owed...”

That seemed to be it for Fran, because the brunette planets both of her hands on each of her hips and glared back at the man. He towered above her, but this didn’t seem to rile her up — she looked ready to fight, if need be.

“Listen, pal, these two over here are married,” she said, pointing between Niles and C.C., who (after a second of confusion) quickly caught on to what their friend was trying to do. It was brilliant, and an easy way to get rid of the brute without making a fuss.

The last thing they needed was to get in trouble when they were a stone’s throw from their destination.

“She’s Mrs Claire Osinov for ya,” continued Fran, “Respectable wife and soon-to-be mother. Right, honey?”

“Indeed,” replied C.C., quickly catching on what their friend was doing and moving to wrap an arm around Niles and dropping a quick peck on his lips, “We are expecting our own bundle of joy in seven months!”

Niles, who couldn’t afford to be stunned by the act, instead bottled that feeling up for later and played his part. He wrapped an arm around Claire’s shoulders, just as she had done, and took her hand as it rested against his chest.

He tried not to think too hard about how that made him feel. Or how right he knew they looked. Being left alone by this man depended on it!

“Indeed we are,” he agreed instead, managing to stick the apparent “interloper” with an accusing glare. “I’m sure the time will fly by, and we’ll have our actual little one soon, though...”

For the first time, the other man looked uncomfortable.

He shifted on the spot, “You never told me you were married...”

Claire stiffened for a moment, having to think rapidly about the one detail she hadn’t been able to cover up.

But eventually something presented itself. A plausible answer...

“Do I need to tell you, just for a friendly dance?” she asked him in return. “One that was to end when my _husband_ came to get me?”

Her words seemed to silence the other man, at last. There were a few silent moments during which his mouth opened and closed a few times, but then, realising he was the one out of place, took a step back.

“Apologies, Mr and Mrs Osinov,” he said in a clipped voice before nodding curtly and walking away, probably to chase after another woman.

The quiet instant that followed gave Niles to compose his thoughts.

They’d done it. They’d gotten away with it!

They’d had to pretend to be married, and they’d done it so well (he could still feel the ghost of Claire’s lips on his) that other people had believed it!

Fran gave them a half-smirk as she glided off the dancefloor, away from them, “Yer welcome...”

You’re welcome? Niles blinked. What did she mean by–

His thoughts were interrupted by someone clearing their throat. Someone stood very close to him still.

Claire, who still had her arm around him and was now looking at him expectantly.

“What was that before, about a dance?” she asked. If Niles had looked any closer, he might have seen that she could feel her mouth drying up and was on the brink of swallowing.

Her question made time suddenly catch up to where it should’ve been, and Niles suddenly recalled everything that had gone on before.

“Oh!” he said, clearing his throat. “Um...absolutely. If, um...if Her Imperial Highness will allow me to escort her onto the dancefloor...?”

His use of the formality amused Claire, who took the arm he’d offered with the phrase. In truth, he’d done it to remind himself of why they were there, but she wasn’t to know that.

Instead, they made their way a little bit into the crowd and slowly started to dance.

It had to be slowly – Claire apparently didn’t know a lot of the steps.

“Having a little trouble, Your Imperial Highness?” he asked quietly, waiting for her to give an indication (in this case, she pulled a face) before taking her by both hands to start to teach her. “Here – let me help you learn. You’ll need to know how to dance, when we reach Paris...”

Claire felt her breath nearly catch in her throat when he took both of her hands, but she held it in. He was right, once she was in Paris and most likely surrounded by nobility and other members of high society, she would need to know how to dance – the sooner she learned, the better.

And after Niles had been so determined to protect her from the angry man, and had asked her to dance so sweetly, she couldn’t think of anybody better to teach her.

She had absolutely no experience of any kind of formal dancing. Niles could see that easily, as he began to lead her through the basic steps of a waltz, keeping her in time as she stumbled over the steps. He led her gently and they shared small (perhaps slightly awkward) laughs as they apparently fumbled, compared to the others out on the dancefloor.

Luckily he remembered how most dances went (otherwise they really would be stuck), even though he had not attended a ball in so many years...

He’d often imagined himself at balls, dancing with his beloved...

The thought must have distracted him from the dance, because he stumbled where he shouldn’t have, and the smile dropped from his face.

Claire caught on right away, and frowned, “Is everything alright? You tripped more than I did, just then...”

He couldn’t tell her what he’d been thinking about. How could he? Not only would that mean admitting how he felt, it would also mean telling her that he was angry at himself for it.

He was betraying the one he loved – would always love – by even comparing the two!

Claire wasn’t the Grand Duchess. She never would be! And as much as he liked her, he had to stop falling for the pretence that they were going to put on in front of the Dowager Empress.

He couldn’t do this anymore – he had to get away, before he fell in too deep and couldn’t get out.

Part of him feared he already had…

He released her hands, cleared his throat and nodded.

“Uh...yeah, I’m fine. It must’ve been a dip in the floor, or...or something. You were really good and this was fun, but now I really...have to go. I’ll see you and Fran in the morning!”

Without another word, and before Claire could ask what was going on, he turned on his heel and rushed out of there, disappearing through the crowd.

“Wait, Niles!” Claire called after him, reaching out and trying to go after him, dodging dancing limbs and peeking over the tops of heads to try and keep an eye on where he was...

But it was no use. After a couple of times, she’d lost sight of him completely.

He’d gone, and he’d left her there alone.

Claire didn’t understand – they’d been having a nice time, she’d thought! It hadn’t even really been uncomfortable, even after what had happened earlier in the day...

Why had he run off like that?! Did he like her or not?!

Was...was it possible that she’d been wrong? She couldn’t have been, could she? She knew she didn’t have that much experience when it came to men, but she wasn’t blind!

The thought...hurt. And it made her angry. It wasn’t fair of him to just take off and leave her with all this confusion!

She sighed to herself and ran a hand through her hair. The entire night had been a bust. It was about time it came to an end, and maybe a better day would begin.

A day in which somebody wouldn’t just drop her for no reason!

Feeling the anger boiling away in her heart, she marched off the dancefloor and back to where Fran was sat, enjoying the music and some wine.

“Have you got the cabin key?” she asked, obviously and openly irritated. “I feel like going to bed early.”

Fran frowned deeply at her in concern, obviously worried and confused about what could’ve happened to change her attitude after basically one dance, but she retrieved the key from her purse.

“Here ya are, sweetie,” she held it out to Claire. “I’ll try ta be quiet when I come in later.”

Claire turned to leave, vowing to herself to apologise for her behaviour when she was in a better mood, “Thank you.”

But Fran couldn’t quite leave it at that (the worry was probably gnawing away already) and called after her.

“What happened out there? Ya seemed fine a few minutes ago...”

Claire halted in her tracks, thought about it, decided she couldn’t explain, and shook her head.

“Nothing happened,” she said shortly, and started walking again. “Goodnight, Fran.”

She was off before the brunette could stop her, getting away from the music and into the quiet felt like relief.

Not enough relief to stop her from marching angrily along the deck’s corridors, but relief all the same. The feeling of the metal key in her hand was a relief, too – both were a reminder that she was heading somewhere private, where she could rest and calm herself down in her own time.

She made it to the cabin door at long last, swiftly unlocked and opened it, and then let it slam shut behind her. It might’ve been late at night, but if anybody woke up because of it, they didn’t complain.

That was just as well; the adrenaline in Claire’s body was enough still that she’d probably try to take them on!

But it all got channelled into getting ready for bed. She kicked off her shoes (they went messily under the bed), wrestled off her dress (that ended up thrown into a corner), quickly brushed her teeth and splashed her face with some water to give a semblance of washing before going to sleep (she couldn’t be bothered to do it properly tonight). Then, she changed into some clean nightwear and switched off the main light, using the light of her bedside table lamp to get into bed.

She pulled the covers back roughly and slipped underneath them, tucking herself up tightly and switching the light off.

The day could not have ended worse, she thought to herself as she closed her eyes. The days ahead could only possibly get better!

And, drifting off to sleep when the last, lingering drops of adrenaline had worn off, Claire’s mind could only be filled images of the happiness she hoped would come when they finally made it to Paris.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**_ Chapter 10 _ **

_**July 1923** _

Where he was, dark and dank and dreary as it was, served as a perfectly suitable location, he thought. For the time being, at least.

Of course, no place or time would feel comfortable whilst the Romanov brat still lived and breathed, but Rasputin would take what he could get. That was, until he could get what he really wanted.

That was where his portable mirror came in. There was nothing quite so useful as being able to see one’s enemy at all times - even if she happened to be asleep in a cabin of a ship heading to Germany...

She was alone. She was vulnerable. She was in the middle of a sea that could swallow a body forever.

But he had no way of getting there himself.

Well, no matter. That was what servants were for, after all.

Raising his hand to the darkness, he summoned two of them from it, “Come to me, and carry out my bidding!”

The hideous creatures came, screeching and baring fangs as they stretched their wings for flight, and Rasputin pointed to the mirror.

To the last Romanov still able to be woken from sleep.

“Go to her,” he ordered, his hand gripping the thing tightly. “Ensure she has... _pleasant dreams_ , courtesy of myself.”

The demons caught on to what he was saying after a few seconds and let out piercing cries before they took off into the air.

That was also before they could hear him complain of “simple beasts”.

They burst through the darkness, into the night sky, and sampled the air for the girl’s scent.

It didn’t take long to catch it, and they took off after the ship at an inhuman speed.

The scent strengthened considerably the closer they got. It was almost overpowering by the time they’d located the cabin.

They had to turn themselves back into shadows to get through the porthole and crept silently along the floor to the right bed, completely ignoring the bed that contained a lightly snoring brunette.

The blonde was all their focus. They would carry out their master’s bidding...

They grew in height again to loom over her, remembering Rasputin’s words, before they located the place in her mind where dreams were held and taking place.

They dove right in.

A sea of green opened before them, as did the brightest blue sky. In its centre, sat the brightest sun; the light made them flinch — light, real or dreamed, wasn’t their element. But they would bear it if it meant bringing their dark master’s wishes to fruition.

Their prey was at hand’s reach already — in her dreams she was young again, a little twelve-year-old girl, sat atop a tartan picnic blanket and munching on a sandwich. She was surrounded by three other young women, all of them beautiful in their own right.

All of them Grand Duchesses of a fallen empire.

All of them sisters to the young Chastity-Claire.

History hadn’t forgotten their names, even if they would forever be linked to tragedy and senseless violence: Olga, Tatiana and Maria.

The four girls were wearing fresh cotton dresses and were barefoot, something that seldom happened when they were at court. There was something relaxing about the gentle caress of the summer breeze on their feet as the warm sun shone down on them.

They were all laughing at something the youngest Grand Duchess had said in between bites of her sandwich.

Instinctively, the demons shared a malicious look — this was the moment. This was their chance. A crack for them to slip into her dream and finally squash the Romanov bug.

One of the demons — the smallest of them — swooped down and, as it landed, it took the appearance of a young man. And not just any young man: Tsarevich Noel Stewartovich Romanov himself.

C.C., not having seen any of it and having been caught up in laughing and enjoying the picnic with her sisters, grinned as her brother approached.

She remembered nothing outside the dream, currently. She had no idea there was a chance she’d soon be on the move - and not because of the ship.

She only knew her dream world. And in it, she was safe and comfortable, happy and loved.

The demons knew nothing of love, and nor did they care to. But the one that had taken on the form of Noel had to appear affectionate to his “sisters”. Talking would give it all away, but grins and hugs, ruffling hair and general play-fighting with each of them (including the littlest one herself) would be more than enough to convince.

And C.C. was convinced. It really was her brother, coming over to join them for the picnic, just like he said he would if he had no work to do...

She remembered. Somehow. No part of her cared how. Not when there was family to be surrounded by, to love, and to belong to.

It felt more glorious than anything she could have ever imagined. And getting her hair ruffled by her brother before he pulled her into a one-armed hug was a missing piece of her heart, miraculously glued back into place...

She felt like she was healing there. She was happy, with them...

Noontime soon progressed into a languorous afternoon. The sun descended from its pride of place in the sky and slowly began to inch towards the horizon. As it did so, the previously bright blue sky turned the most wonderful shades of magenta, ochre and lilac. The colours melded so seamlessly it almost made one stare up at the sky in awe.

But Chastity-Claire was too busy chasing after her older brother and sisters, who were all currently running towards a nearby creek. There was laughter in the air and a sense of effervescent joy reigned among Claire’s heart, but it was this intoxicating happiness what prevented her from the evident glitches in her otherwise perfect dream.

Her brother’s feet were unlike any other normal human feet — they were of a dark colour, like charred paper, and his toenails had become curved and sharp. And yet, she only had eyes for his inviting smile and shining eyes...

She also failed to realise the faint rocking motion her surroundings were experiencing, nor was she bothered by the briny scent of sea-air.

There was no sea nearby. No Ocean.

Not in her dream, at least.

The physical world was another matter entirely.

She couldn’t see beyond what her heart so greatly desired.

And the demons smirked among themselves to see that she was so close to falling from the edge of the ship. She’d been active with her feet, even if she hadn’t felt a thing, and had sleepwalked from her room all the way up to where she was now so deliciously close to ending it all...

Ending it, and not even being aware. At least, not until the last moment, where there was no hope of escape...

Their work - and their master’s - would be done in no time at all.

The creek got wider, the further down the “siblings” went, and deeper to the point where its water flow became invisible...

It wouldn’t be long. The demon motioned and the shape it took began to get the image ready.

It got into the water, having replaced its clothes with a bathing suit (the little fool would never notice the mistake - not on time), and beckoned for the last Romanov to join them.

All of her siblings did, getting to the water, preparing to go in...

If that wasn’t enough incentive, her parents had appeared alongside them at the side of the creek. Bright, beaming smiles made their faces warm, kind...excited to see her.

She was overwhelmed by the sudden need to see them. It had been so long...so very long, with no hope of ever being held by them again...

Her mother’s arms were outstretched. And all she could do was run straight to them, ready to tackle her Mama and hold her while they both laughed and cried...

But it never happened.

She was within touching distance, barely brushing the fingertips of her mother’s reaching hand, when they were gone. Huge, ugly demons were in their place, their mad red eyes dancing and fanged mouths howling with laughter.

And then from somewhere else entirely, a booming voice rolled like ominous thunder.

“Now you are mine, Romanova!”

Just like that, it was all gone. And she was forced back into the world where she needed to open her eyes.

Claire opened them to blackness, to the sound of crashing waves somewhere far below, and to the sudden sensation that she was about to fall.

The scream had started to leave her mouth, just as the strong arms reached out and pulled her backwards...

* * *

The deck of the ship was quiet at night. It made for a much more peaceful place to think, when there were no bands playing or couples dancing. And even if it was bitterly cold, he was starting to find that the cigarettes warmed him up.

At least they made him feel something other than angry, or hurt, or confused. He’d been feeling more of those things recently, and the change disturbed him.

Of course, he knew why he was feeling that way. Confusion had come as a natural reaction, once he’d figured out what he felt for Claire.

Anger was only a step onwards from that, knowing that he had no right to feel anything of the sort towards her. Not when he’d promised his heart to someone else.

The hurt came then. Because his love wasn’t there anymore, to receive his love, or even to know of it. And even if she had been, she wouldn’t even consider the son of a man who’d dragged his own family name through the mud.

He practically was mud, in comparison.

But nothing about that stopped him from loving her, or from reminding himself that as light and as happy as he felt around Claire, she wasn’t the one he had said he’d spend his life with.

It hurt to think that, too, but he had to face his own reality.

It was as clear as...as Claire, walking across the deck, clad only in her nightwear, towards the edge of the ship...?

Her face was blank as she passed him, not even acknowledging that he was there.

She looked as though she were in a trance, almost...it was strange – she’d never once sleepwalked, the entire time that he and Fran had known her!

As soon as that thought had left his head, she’d broken into a run - careening right in the direction of the ship’s side.

Niles’ heart clenched. She was going to fall, if nobody did anything - if he didn’t do something!

Throwing his cigarette butt away, he ran after her.

 “Claire!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, hoping — praying — that it would wake her from whatever it was that she was dreaming. “Claire, wake up!”

But the young woman didn’t. She kept running towards the side if the ship and giggling like a child. She reminded Niles of some sort of sprite — a tall, pale, willowy figure dashing through the night, her white nightgown billowing out around her legs and long, blonde hair (which she usually kept neat in a French braid) bouncing on her shoulders and back.

She wasn’t going to stop, and if he didn’t catch her in time, she would not only look like a ghost but also turn into one!

Somehow, the mere thought of the young woman losing her life gave Niles a surge of energy, which he used to fasten the pace and shorten the distance between them. He had to save her — and not because losing her would bring the entire con to an early end. No, it was the fear of losing her what fuelled Niles. The fear of seeing her fall to her certain death.

He wouldn’t let that happen.

Not to Claire.

But he had to hurry. Claire had just impacted against the side of the ship, and judging by the frightened scream she let out, she was finally awake.

He grabbed her around the middle, and pulled her back onto the deck, just in time. He staggered away from the edge with her in his arms, and would have nearly collapsed under the weight normally, but the adrenaline rush kept him on his feet.

It kept Claire securely in his hold, too, especially as he lowered them both to the ground, Claire in his lap - he had to make the world stop spinning, and they had to have a seat...

“I’ve got you...” he murmured determinedly, but calmly. “You’re safe...”

She was fully awake, but while she was still catching her breath and getting her bearings (she might have still been partially asleep), Niles didn’t expect her to say anything in reply to his comments.

Her reaction happened a few seconds later, anyway – once her body had seemed to realise it was safe again. She began to cry.

And her sobs were powerful, once she got going. With a sharp intake of breath, she threw herself against his torso and buried her head in his chest.

That sent a jolt of worry through Niles. He wanted to ask what was wrong – apart from the very obvious - but feared the possibility of upsetting her by trying to make her talk about it...

There was only one other possibility – the gentler one. The more sympathetic one for someone in her time of need.

So, he held onto her tightly, rubbed her back, and let her tears fall against his chest.

“It’s alright...I’m here. It’ll all be alright,” he told her. “I’m not going anywhere...”

He truly wasn’t going anywhere. Not while she needed him to be right where he was. He might’ve been a conman for most – if not all – of his adult life, but he knew what the right thing to do in this situation was.

First things first, he had to get her off the deck. It was still night-time, the sea air was freezing, and the brine hitting the deck was like ice! She’d catch her death if she stayed outside in her nightclothes much longer!

He rubbed her back to both comfort and warm her up a bit, “Come on, let’s get you inside...”

Very carefully, with her still sniffing and sobbing lightly into his shoulder, Niles rose to his feet.

They managed to make it in through the door, and started the process of navigating his way on a moving vessel, whilst carrying another person, to get to his cabin.

His cabin was easier to get to, and it would save banging on any doors to wake Fran up...

It would save on one heck of an explanation, too...

Unlocking the door was the last challenge, but once they were inside, a calmer atmosphere could start to descend.

Claire would be fine there.

Niles didn’t like the thought of leaving her alone once he thought she was fine, though. She could look fine but not be, and that worry tore at him...

She had to stay. It was the only way to be sure that she would actually be fine.

But...how was that going to work? There was only one bed in his cabin...

He looked between the terrified girl in his arms, and the one place in the cabin truly meant for sleeping. Several times, and each time he saw Claire’s face again, he knew what the right thing to do was.

There was only one thing for it, obviously - he had to be a gentleman. He had to give up the bed to her, and find somewhere else to sleep. Probably the floor. Not that it would matter, not for one night - she’d be back in her own bed by the morning, and there wouldn’t be any more trouble.

He hoped there wouldn’t be, anyway. He didn’t know if his heart (or his nerves) would be able to take it, seeing her try to...

Try to walk off the edge of a ferry...

That instinctively made him want to hold onto her tighter.

But he couldn’t hold on forever. She needed to get into her newly-given bed, and try to go back to sleep.

He’d probably end up keeping watch for a while, until he was sure she was soundly asleep and completely safe.

And until she was asleep, he’d talk to her. Get her to open up and talk about what had happened.

Maybe if she told him about it, that meant it wouldn’t happen again - the thought would’ve passed out of her head, never to return!

He hoped that they’d never return, anyway. The fear that gripped at him just by thinking of what had nearly happened was almost too much to bear, and having it happen on a regular basis...

No. He wouldn’t even think about it happening again! He was going to talk to her, and stop it from happening.

And it all had to start by him putting her to bed. He’d...already had her in his arms long enough - any longer and he might say something to embarrass himself!

So, he crossed the room and very carefully peeled back the covers to lay Claire down on the mattress. He then replaced the covers over her, tucking them in to give an extra sense of security.

All the while, he talked to her.

“There we are,” he murmured, smoothing the covers out for her. “Does that feel better?”

Claire shifted, her face still displaying the fear that she still felt. She was in a safer place, she knew that - Niles had saved her...he was...taking care of her now.

And she knew that it was better.

So, she tried to smile, even though it was difficult, and she nodded.

Niles smiled gently in return, starting to feel a little bit relieved.

“Are you feeling...alright enough to talk about what happened?”

Claire appeared to think about it, before shaking her head. Talking about it was obviously still too much for her to handle, even if it was only a dream and there was nothing to fear by telling him.

He wasn’t going to press her about it, though. They might have been in a safe place, but the dream or nightmare or whatever she’d been having had been bad enough to nearly make her walk herself to the bottom of the sea!

The mere thought, taking him by surprise, stuck a hand straight into his gut and squeezed. He understood completely why she didn’t want to talk about it yet - he hated the thought of it, and suddenly very much found himself wanting to take both their minds off it.

He’d talk about literally anything else, and only one subject came to mind.

He nodded to her answer, patted the covers comfortingly, and began to retreat from the bed.

“Alright,” he said softly, looking around the room until he spotted what he was looking for - the lone chair that went with the cabin’s desk. It would be perfect for this. He then briefly turned back to Claire. “Then if you will permit me to turn my back for a moment, Your Imperial Highness, I shall pull up a chair and tell you a story to take your mind off it.”

Claire managed to humour him by nodding again, and Niles quickly went to grab the chair. He dragged it back, pulling it up right next to her bedside.

“I...I think I should warn you, it isn’t a happy story,” he said, seating himself as comfortably as he could.

He watched as Claire sighed deeply, apparently ready to speak for the first time since they’d arrived.

“...I’m used to sad stories,” she told him quietly, shrugging a little as her pinched fingertips pulled at the sheets.

Niles bit down on the inside of his lip. Of course she was - former Grand Duchess with a dead family or not, Claire had been subject to plenty of unhappiness in her life. His own would just end up another horrific tale in the many

But if it took her mind off her nightmare, it would be worth telling.

He let out his own breath, nodded very briefly, “Alright. Then let me tell you my sad story.”

Claire then shifted in the bed, looking up at him curiously.

Was...was this going to be about the things that Fran had told her, back on the train? About him being a prince, and then a servant?

“I wasn’t always like this,” he told her, his eyes slowly drifting to the floor. His next words confirmed her thought. “When...when I was a boy, I was a prince, like my father before me. My family lived in a grand palace, ate the finest foods, wore the most fashionable clothes. We wanted for nothing.”

It hurt to even think that there had been a point in his life when he’d lived that way. And a large part of that had to do with how naïve his younger self had been to think that it would last forever.

He clenched and unclenched his hands as he continued, “At least, I thought we did. I was wrong. And I didn’t know how wrong I was, until the day my father declared that he was leaving us.”

Claire probably couldn’t imagine a part of a happy family suddenly not wanting them to be together anymore. Niles didn’t comment on her reaction, though. It was hard for someone who’d only ever idealised the idea to understand the reality when it was presented to them.

He had no idea that Claire was thinking about what Fran had said, and hurting inside at hearing it all, but coming from the man himself this time...

“He...he had a mistress, that he had met whilst gambling,” the memory made him tremble with hurt and anger, but he kept it together. “He took whatever money he had left after and spent it on moving away with her, to Switzerland, where he said he never wanted to hear from us again. Not a letter, or a telegram, not even a picture sent by post. He...he told us he’d never loved us. He left us behind, with nothing but his gambling debts...my mother, whose heart he broke, me and my three brothers...”

He blinked hard to stop the tears. They came anyway.

“We...we were cast out of polite society. Our name was mud. Our friends abandoned us. We...had to take work in the palace - my mother as a washerwoman, my brothers and I as serving boys. When they got older they took on other jobs, to bring in more money to pay back the debts. To maybe get us our home back. Maybe restore our name, our place, and our dignity. I was...the only one to survive the Revolution...”

He ducked his head away, unable to look at Claire anymore. His heart was tearing itself into ribbons in his chest, and he hadn’t even told her everything...!

He hadn’t told her about his love. The one he hadn’t been able to save that dreadful night, and the other reason he said he was the “only” one to survive it.

He didn’t look up until after he’d heard the bedsheets rustling, and he  felt a hand reach out to rest comfortingly on his arm.

He was met with a pair of bright blue eyes set in a delicate porcelain face looking up at him. There was also a small, comforting half-smile playing about her features, almost in a “I share your pain” kind of way.

And, in many ways, she did.

The Revolution had robbed her of a family, too. Not only that, but it had also taken away her very identity — Niles simply couldn’t wrap his head around what that must have been like; to not even know who you are...

To have a gaping hole where an entire life should have been.

Because, despite the heartache that had followed his own messy childhood, he at least had happy memories of happier times — of the time when he’d had a title and a family, whereas Claire had nothing.

Nothing but loss, confusion and pain.

That thought alone made his heart ache.

Ache more than it had ached for another human being in a long time.

He returned her half-smile, and he reached over with his other hand to cover hers. He gripped it for a second, letting her know how much the gesture was appreciated.

How much he was now thinking of her as a true kindred spirit.

He wasn’t going to hold on for too long, though. She had to be feeling exhausted by this stage, and he didn’t want to keep her from getting some rest and from finding more pleasant dreams.

“Anyway,” he said, fidgeting in his chair so that she would return fully to the bed. “I mustn’t keep you awake with my personal history. Please, Your Imperial Highness, try to rest - I shall be right here, keeping watch in this very chair.”

Claire seemed unsure at first, “You’re sure about this...?”

He had guessed that she might still be nervous. Any nightmare like she’d had would make any sane person fearful. And all he could do was reassure her, and keep his vow to keep an eye on her.

He’d do whatever it took, to ensure her safety.

He gave her an encouraging smile, and nodded, “I’m completely sure.”

The doubting look slowly melted away from Claire’s face, and she offered him another smile. It was slightly wider this time.

But as she turned over and was about to try and sleep, Niles stopped her.

In the light as she’d turned, he’d caught sight of multiple long scars on her back, looking as though she’d been lashed with a belt, or a whip...

They were...dark, against the rest of her pale skin, and they showed up to him as horrific and worrying as blood on snow.

At one stage, it had been blood on skin...

“Claire, your...your back! What happened...?!” he asked, not able to bring his voice above a whisper just in case he screamed.

And as she turned back to look at him, her expression was...mournful, but also resigned...

“The orphanage where I grew up. That place happened. The mistress of the place beat us and starved us, made us sleep in freezing rooms and told us we’d never be loved. And when we stole food, or did anything else that allowed us to live just a little bit, we were punished with a belt.”

If Niles had imagined that the worst thing he’d think about that night was what had just happened out on the deck, he knew now that he would’ve been wrong.

Hearing about children being abused, frozen in their beds when they should have been warm, and beaten for the crime of simply being hungry sunk him into depths of horror he could never have imagined before.

Horror he didn’t want to imagine, but it came anyway.

A tiny, helpless Claire, no older than ten, cried uselessly for help in his mind, screams drowning out the sounds of a whip breaking against her back...

He thought the tears might start up again, or even churn his stomach so much it would cause him to vomit, and all because he knew he hadn’t been able to save her.

He hadn’t been able to spare her the pain that she now carried, scarred upon her body.

It was absolutely brutal, and somehow guilt weighed on him...

Not that the scars were a matter for concern to the young woman, she merely snuggled in bed and wrapped the covers securely around her, ready to go back to bed.

“It’s nothing you should worry about,” she said, sighing, “I escaped. I am free, and the best revenge I can possibly get is actually finding my family.”

Claire paused for a second and then smiled up at Niles, eyes shining, “And you are helping me do exactly that.”

It was...as if her smile warmed him from the fingertips-upwards. The feeling hummed and buzzed through his body, making him feel a kind of happiness he never even thought possible.

It was like the cosy feeling of a hot drink on a cold winter’s day, combined with the excitement of watching a firework go off.

It was the best thing he’d ever felt. And it all came with the pride of knowing that he was making her happy.

But there was also a creeping sense of guilt appearing, the longer he let her words echo in his head.

She thought he was taking her to her family, when that wasn’t possible.  He knew she wasn’t the Grand Duchess - he was conning her as well as the Dowager Empress...

Well...maybe it would all work out and no one would be caught out in the lie?

He had to tell himself that; it was the best way to think about it. And then he had to distract himself from even thinking of it by returning to getting lost in her gaze.

He wasn’t even going to think about the con. Not when Claire was so happy, and he could be enjoying seeing her so happy...

He smiled warmly at her in return, not saying a word about what she’d just said. She seemed to take it as a silent answer, at any rate - sort of a humble, wordless “say no more”.

It seemed to satisfy her in terms of the entire conversation, too - the whole experience and the emotional surge it had caused afterwards had exhausted her.

It was definitely time to sleep. So, as Claire stifled a yawn and curled herself up in the bedsheets, Niles checked the door one last time to make sure it was secure. When it was done and Claire had closed her eyes to start to drift off, Niles snapped off the light.

He silently felt his way to the chair he’d been sitting in and moved it aside to clear himself a patch on the floor, next to the bed (he’d be the first to know that way, if she started sleepwalking). There weren’t any spare blankets or other pillows in the room but he was sure that he could make do by rolling up his jacket and putting it underneath his head.

He’d done it before. Truly, he’d slept in far worse, more uncomfortable places.

And in his mind, knowing that he was doing it for Claire made it that much easier to drift off into a peaceful sleep.

* * *

Rasputin was ready to kill.

Specifically, he was ready to slaughter the two young upstart mongrels that kept ruining his plans!

It would always be the Romanov girl who went first. She should’ve died against a wall the night her parents and siblings had, and be buried in a shallow grave out somewhere in the wilds by now! Or else she should’ve been crushed into an unrecognisable mass in that train wreck he’d had set up to end her, once and for all!

It should not have taken a dream to send her to the bottom of the sea to get anywhere close. And it should not have failed again!

Especially not because of that...that...boy that he was now watching drift off to sleep on the cabin floor next to her! If it hadn’t been for him pulling her back, Rasputin would’ve had his revenge by now!

He let the mirror he was watching from slip slowly towards the boy. If he was going to present an obstacle, then he would need to be identified quickly.

Identified, and then removed. Like a disease, or a deadly growth.

Although, it was still...odd. In Rasputin’s life he had never given people a second’s thought. They were there for use, and if they were not then they were to be killed!

And yet, he had to peer very carefully at the boy’s now-sleeping face.

He imagined it...thinner. Smaller. Younger...

Much younger.

It was him! It was the boy who’d killed him that night, and let the Grand Duchess and her grandmother get away!

He still remembered the impact. The way the rock’s blow had knocked him into the ice...the final shouts that had grown muffled in his ears as the boy insisted that the two Royals go on without him...

He burned with the humiliation of it all. To be beaten - to have his life ended - by a desperate, lonely, scared little child was the ultimate in dishonour!

He should’ve killed the loathsome little cockroach when he’d had the chance! He should have heard him coming up behind, or seen to it that he was slaughtered before he could even leave the palace!

Now he was just going to get in the way of him killing the Grand Duchess!

Well...perhaps that was no matter. Rasputin enjoyed killing - and if there was a second person he wanted rotting out in the wilderness, it was the little bastard who’d sent him to his own grave in the first place!

The two could decompose, side by side, almost exactly how they were sleeping in his mirror.

But that would, regrettably, not be for some time yet.

He couldn’t physically put his hands on the girl, or the boy, but he could come up with a plan that might take time to execute, but it would prove oh-so satisfying in the end!

He’d wait until they’d reached Paris. He’d wait until the Dowager Empress had received them, and accepted her granddaughter back into her arms, relieved and overjoyed to have her home...

And then he’d kill the girl. Right in front of her grandmother’s very eyes!

Then and only then would his revenge on the Romanov family be complete!

So, he had to bide his time. He knew how to be patient, even if he didn’t want to be.

The reward in the end would be far greater than the days he would lose on their journey.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: We'd like to give our eternal gatitude to the AMAZING FrenchUnicorn, who drew the most beautiful fanart of this little chapter. You are the best!

**_ Chapter 11 _ **

_Paris, France_

_July 1923_

**__ **

Claire couldn’t help it — she was up and about before any of the other passengers. She got into her best clothes, applied a bit of makeup, and was eventually up on deck, stood at the boat’s bow, eyes fixed on the Parisian skyline that rose before her as dawn broke.

A city of deep ochre, bronze and yellow tones lay ahead, spread out in all its glory with its characteristic Eiffel Tower taking pride of place.

At long last, they were in Paris.

Claire couldn’t help the beaming smile on her face or the tears pouring down her cheeks; she’d waited a lifetime for this — she’d waited and dreamed and prayed to God for someday being able to stand where she currently stood, witnessing the awakening of the dwellers of the City of Lights.

Claire looked on as the ship gently glided on the Seine’s clear waters, making a faint whooshing sound every time the water lapped at the ship’s sides in its steady ebbing motion. It was a dream come true; Claire instinctively pinched herself and flinched — this was real.

She let out a soft laugh. It was real. She was finally living the dream that she’d held for so long!

And it was all thanks to two people that she couldn’t believe had come into her life! She owed Niles and Fran so much, she didn’t know how she was ever gonna repay them!

Well, maybe she could think of a way, once she was more settled. She certainly wasn’t going to let them go without – not after everything they’d done for her!

And to think, it had all happened because Niles had spotted that picture! He’d had to notice her like nobody else had (that thought let a soft blush start to creep across her face), and pick her out even though she’d have changed so much since the painting was commissioned.

She’d changed since being on the journey they were almost concluding, too. And she thought that Niles had played a big part in that, as well.

Things had certainly been a lot better for them, since her...nightmare incident. Well, better but also more...Claire wasn’t sure how to put it. They’d joked, gone dancing, had dinner together…

Typical fun.

And yet she didn’t know what to think about the way she noticed his stares when he thought she wasn’t looking. She only knew that her heart secretly began to race whenever it happened.

The same thing applied whenever they were in a small space, like some of the corridors on board the ship. Feeling him brushing against her as they walked, having to step up behind her whenever anybody needed to pass in the opposite direction...the heat went so quickly to her face, it took all her willpower not to openly blush every time!

Even thinking about it right then was making her feel...warmer under her dress. Certainly warmer than the air currently was, in the early morning sun, combined with the breeze and the light brine coming off the water.

She felt lucky that she was up so early that there was literally nobody around to see. There was something more than a tiny bit unbearable about being caught out, blushing like a schoolgirl...!

She hoped it would go before anybody came along. If it didn’t, then she hoped she’d be lucky enough that they’d mistake it for wind burn, from being up on deck for so long.

And nobody could blame her for that. They’d understand completely why she’d been up there, staring out at the city that contained her entire destiny!

Nobody would even suspect that it was about Niles...

Not when she could be up there to dream all over again about every aspect of her grandmother, and the life that she’d have now that she would be living in Paris...

The more she feigned thinking about that, the more she actually got to thinking about it. What would it be like? She had no idea what the life of a noblewoman – royal or not – entailed!

She’d be relying heavily on her grandmother to teach her how everything worked, just like she’d been relying on Niles and Fran to remind her of all the things she’d forgotten. But, just like with her friends, she was sure that she’d be a fast learner for her Grandmama.

Her real-life Grandmama...she’d dreamed of having even one single relative for so long, when she’d been in the orphanage, and now she truly did have one!

Claire beamed to herself, letting the warmth of happiness that the thought produced spread through her chest.

And in her head, she began to rehearse exactly how she was going to greet her grandmother. What she was going to say, once they’d been introduced. Conversation topics soon followed – anything ranging from favourite foods and music to...well, her family, obviously.

Her Grandmama would fill the gaps in her memory, she just knew it. She’d tell her all about her Mama and Papa, all of her siblings, and slowly the family would start to gather in her head.

They would come back to her, and Claire would come home to them.

 

Little by little, the rest of the passengers began to appear on deck, sleep still lingering on their features. Most of them cracked a smile upon meeting the wonderful sight ahead — they had arrived at last.

Soon, there were passengers, adults and children alike, clutching at the railings of the ship, chatting and laughing excitedly. Fingers pointed ahead, booming laughter was heard, bodies hovered over the railings and called for loved ones to come and see...

It was simply heart-warming.

Or at least it was to Claire.

She couldn’t help wrapping her arms around herself; despite the knowledge that she was one step closer to her family (or what remained of it), part of her wished she’d have been able to enjoy from this unique sight with a loved one rather than on her own. She was used to being alone, yes, but she’d gotten tired of it.

She stepped away from the railing with a sigh, suddenly no longer in the mood for any more sightseeing, and started to head back to her cabin. A few young kids pushed past her upon noticing the clear spot she’d left behind at the railing; their mother followed closed behind, calling their names and apologising to those her children had shoved aside in their quest to wrestle for a good spot at the railing.

A little ways behind the mother C.C. spotted two familiar figures, both dressed to the nines.

And, silently, the need in her heart to share the sight with somebody retreated. Not all the way, obviously, but it backed off enough.

It didn’t feel the need to be so present when Niles was so near, looking perhaps the sharpest she’d ever seen him in his suit, clearly also having run a comb through his hair.

Like Fran, who was draped in a gorgeous red dress, he clearly wanted to make a good impression. They were both beaming from ear to ear, apparently ready to get started almost as soon as they’d gotten off the ship.

She smiled at them both as well, and went to meet them as they came to her.

“I knew that I’d heard ya gettin’ up early!” Fran called out happily just before they came to stand together. “I thought that ya might’ve come up here ta take a look at yer new home! Whaddya think?!”

That was when it was Claire’s turn to beam.

“It’s...wonderful. Better than I’d ever imagined!” she nearly felt tears arriving already, and decided to turn the conversation onto other things before she did. “And you both are looking wonderful, too! Niles, I didn’t realise you could ever possibly scrub up so well!”

Niles looked slightly smug at her in return, “At least I’m fully prepared for today.”

Blinking, Claire looked down at herself. She thought she’d come up ready for their meeting today already!

“I’m wearing the best thing I own,” she said, looking back up at them both. “How much more prepared for today do I need to be?”

Fran shook her head, “Nothin’s wrong with how ya look, sweetie – yer gorgeous. But what we got in mind is just a little bit...snazzier.”

Before Claire could ask what that meant, Fran took her by the arm and they began to guide her back down to the cabin. Once there, they made her sit, whilst Niles rummaged through the wardrobe and pulled out a long, well-hidden box, tied with a ribbon.

Another surprise gift for her...?

It certainly seemed so judging by the way Niles placed the box in her lap with a flourished bow.

Upon opening it, she beheld the loveliest dress she’d ever seen! The cream-coloured garment was even more formal-looking than Fran’s, and it rippled like water when she ran her hand over it. 

She marvelled at each layer of the fabric, “It’s...it’s...”

“Beautiful? Perfect?” the words rolled teasingly off Niles’ tongue. “Something you need to thank two certain, down-on-their-luck Russian nobles for?”

Fran smacked him on the arm for that, and grinned at Claire, “Pay him no attention, honey – it’s not like he got to pick that dress out himself! Come on – let’s get you fitted out before we dock!”

And so, they did. By the time the ship was in position to dock, Claire had slipped into her new dress and was wearing it with a new sense of pride. She loved being able to swish the lace of her sleeves through the air – it made her feel light, like she was floating.

Then the trio was quick to grab their luggage, made a last-minute check of their cabins, and headed off towards the exit, where many of the other passengers were already neatly lined up as they waited for the pier workers to settle the gangplank between the ship and the shore so they could get off. Just as they’d done when boarding the train from Petersburg to Poland, the trio split and went to stand in line separately. Niles and Claire went first, hand in hand and fake wedding rings on their fingers. They still had the counterfeit papers that had allowed them to get out of Russia, and they clearly said they were the newlywed Mr and Mrs Osinov; admittance to France depended on their ability to play the part, and they were dead set about getting it right.

Still, the notion of being married to one another was making Claire’s heart flutter and a powerful surge of emotion to course her body. They’d done this before, yes, but somehow being there, holding his hand in hers, smiling up and exchanging giggling kisses with Niles was making her feel…

Uh…

Making her feel _how_?

 _In love,_ a small voice said as they handed their papers to the French immigration officer. _She was in love._

She would have liked to say that the realisation had hit her like the train that hadn’t killed them all, but that wasn’t the case. The more she thought about it – the more she analysed her recent interactions with him, the more evident the truth was.

There was no room for confusion in her head; there were no questions about it, or any sense that she could simply be mistaken.

She was in love with him. That was better. No mistakes, or potential confusion about how she felt.

She was...in love with Niles. She was in love with the prince-turned-servant who had (dashingly) saved her from a train wreck, and from being drowned, and had offered her the chance to return to her family...

She was so deeply into the feeling, the man himself had to tap her on the arm to remind her to take her papers back. She was actually slightly disappointed when that happened – the longer they were being checked by the immigration officer, the longer they were acting out their little married fantasy.

But, eventually, they did have to leave. They were holding up the line behind them, and as Niles reminded her with a soft (it was like dripping honey to Claire) murmur that they were expected elsewhere.

They walked arm-in-arm as they reached dry land, beaming all the way for the security and immigration officials. Somewhere behind them, they could hear Fran wrestling with her suitcases, trying to manoeuvre them down and onto the side of the dock. They would have helped her, but for the sake of keeping up the charade they’d agreed they would meet up again once they were outside of the port and away from any immigration officer that could ask them one too many questions that would put their plan in jeopardy.

So, still acting as a pair of newlyweds, Niles and Claire moved to the exit, laughing and giggling and holding one another close. Again, this was almost torture for Claire – if this was what faking felt like, then she couldn’t imagine what the real thing would be like. Or what it would be like to be his actual beloved…

The thought depressed Claire, and although she kept a sunny disposition, she suddenly felt an urge to pull away from Niles. She remembered Fran’s words on the train – Niles had not only lost his family the night of the revolution; he’d lost his beloved, too. How could she, a simple amnesiac girl (Grand Duchess or not) compete against that? He surely wouldn’t dare tarnish his beloved’s memory, much less on Claire’s account. She had nothing to offer him except a heartful of dreams and hopes. She wasn’t the one for him, and no matter how painful that was, she had to understand it.

She had to respect it.

Even if that kill–

“ _Claire!_ ”

Niles calling her name bluntly interrupted her reverie, “Uh?”

“I asked if anyone is looking at us,” Niles whispered to her while in the middle of a pretended Eskimo kiss as they walked past the port’s entrance.

That brought her right back to the present time.

She let her eyes dart around them very quickly. About the only advantage of growing up in an orphanage that practically doubled as some sort of gulag was her ability to check on whether she was about to be caught doing something.

She knew what it was like to be watched. Not that anybody was, today. They were all too busy getting where they had to go, or helping people get where they had to go, or stopping them from going where they shouldn’t go...

They had nothing to fear.

Ironically enough, the certainty of being safe sent a nagging feeling right to her heart and stomach – the minute she said no, he was going to be the one pulling away. There was nothing she could do about it, either, even if the realisation made her want to cling to him.

He knew that her checks, even when they were made in substantial crowds, never took very long. She had a quick eye for that sort of detail, and he’d pick up on it if she took her time just to spend a few more moments cuddled up...

That thought clashed violently with the thought of wanting to pull away herself, but it was there, nonetheless. She had no right to stay where she was, and had no chance if she even tried, but enough of her desperately wanted to try anyway!

Both feelings were so fierce, they were making her start to ache...

But that was distracting her from the problem at hand, and after a few more moments careful consideration, she decided it would be better to tell the truth.

Niles would never lie to her, so she owed him the same courtesy!

So, taking in a deep (but slow, so it wasn’t seen or heard) breath, she shook her head.

Niles himself quickly mirrored her check with one of his own. Not because he didn’t believe her – he practically relied on her eye for detail! – but so that nothing had changed in the seconds that she’d used to answer, and to keep an eye on the pathways ahead of them, as well as the ways off to either side.

It was a common team effort used in his early days as a conman. Back when it had been extremely useful to have plenty of escape routes.

They might still come in useful at some stage, but for now they appeared to be getting away with it. The immigration officers and port security were all quite far away.

The only person who was still close to him was Claire...

Although, from out of the corner of his eye, there was one person who was getting closer, rushing along with cases and bags swinging either side...

Fran was due to meet them properly outside of the port, but she probably didn’t want them too far out of her sight, either.

And, knowing now that they were only being watched by the one person there they could trust, Niles slowly pulled away from nuzzling at Claire. Still, he held onto her hand, and continued to do so until they were out of the port.

“Well, that worked wonderfully!” exclaimed Niles, “Now, we only need to wait for Fran and then we’ll be off to Prince Maxwell’s home!”

Claire frowned – Prince Maxwell? Who on Earth was he? And why did they have to go to his home? Weren’t they supposed to be going to her grandmother’s house? No one had said anything about this, and Claire wasn’t one for unexpected changes in plans.

“Pardon me?” Claire said, pulling her hand back to her and out of Niles’ grasp, “I thought we were going to see my grandmother!”

“And we are, Your Imperial Highness,” Niles replied, setting his case down on the floor, “But first we must meet with Prince Maxwell Sheffieldorovich. No one meets the Empress if they don’t… pass Prince Maxwell’s interrogation.”

 That set off an alarm inside of Claire – interrogation?! No one had said anything about an interrogation! How on Earth was she going to answer questions about a life she barely remembered? And what for, at any rate? If Niles and Fran had been able to recognise who she was, why wouldn’t her own grandmother be able to do so too?

There was something off about all of this, and Claire couldn’t help but feel her heart begin to race in her chest.

“Interrogation?!” she hissed at Niles, “You never said anything about needing to pass an interrogation!”

“Claire, it’s just a formality,” Niles replied just as Fran came hurtling towards them, “It’s just to make sure you are not an impostor; many have tried to deceive your grandmother over the years, so this is just a fail-safe. You’ll be fine.”

Claire didn’t feel fine. She felt more than a little bit like she’d been talked into something that she couldn’t (easily) back out from.

But she did have to admit that Niles’ reasoning sounded solid. If there had been impostors over the years, determined to trick her grandmother into believing that it was really her, then it was no wonder they’d added another layer of security.

It started to make her feel angry, too – how dare people think that they could just waltz in and take complete advantage of her grandmother like that?! Didn’t they have any moral centre, tricking an elderly woman who wanted nothing more than to find her granddaughter?!

To find her...

And they were wasting time again with her panic. The sooner she got to Prince Maxwell’s, or whatever his name was, the sooner she could (hopefully) pass the test and be on her way to meet her grandmother!

Then the imposters could stop calling.

So, letting out a huffed breath, she shifted her weight to her other foot and looked at Niles.

“Alright. Okay, which way do we have to go?”

“We are off ta the 7th arrondissement,” panted a newly arrived Fran as she too set her cases down on the floor and slumped against the wall, clearly having exhausted herself by carrying all her luggage, “More specifically, ta Rue de Grenelle, where Prince Maxwell and yer grandmother live.”

“It’s the most aristocratic district in Paris,” added Niles, “A perfect place for royals such as Her Imperial Majesty or yourself to live in, Your Imperial Highness. And the faster we get there, the faster you will be able to see your grandmother.”

Claire couldn’t help it – she had to smile then. Niles was right. They had to get moving! She was at a stone throw’s from the family she had longed for since she’d a notion of being. They couldn’t fiddle about, not when they were so close to their goal.

Feeling a surge of newfound energy and purpose, Claire reached down and grabbed one of the cases, “Very well. Let’s get moving then! We can’t afford to stand here burning daylight, can we?”

Niles grinned at her newfound enthusiasm, and grabbed another case, almost in a show of solidarity.

“We certainly can’t,” he said, looking over his shoulder at Fran. “Let’s go – I’m sure Her Ladyship the Countess Fineova will be delighted to lead the way?”

Fran took an eager step forward, “That I would, you two. If you’d care ta follow me in this direction...?”

She gestured further down the road they were heading along, before starting to lug her suitcases in the direction she was pointing. Niles and Claire followed, each wearing the same grin at the idea of reaching their destination.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**_ Chapter 11 _ **

**_Paris, France_ **

**_July 1923_ **

**__ **

Claire couldn’t help it — she was up and about before any of the other passengers. She got into her best clothes, applied a bit of makeup, and was eventually up on deck, stood at the boat’s bow, eyes fixed on the Parisian skyline that rose before her as dawn broke.

A city of deep ochre, bronze and yellow tones lay ahead, spread out in all its glory with its characteristic Eiffel Tower taking pride of place.

At long last, they were in Paris.

Claire couldn’t help the beaming smile on her face or the tears pouring down her cheeks; she’d waited a lifetime for this — she’d waited and dreamed and prayed to God for someday being able to stand where she currently stood, witnessing the awakening of the dwellers of the City of Lights.

Claire looked on as the ship gently glided on the Seine’s clear waters, making a faint whooshing sound every time the water lapped at the ship’s sides in its steady ebbing motion. It was a dream come true; Claire instinctively pinched herself and flinched — this was real.

She let out a soft laugh. It was real. She was finally living the dream that she’d held for so long!

And it was all thanks to two people that she couldn’t believe had come into her life! She owed Niles and Fran so much, she didn’t know how she was ever gonna repay them!

Well, maybe she could think of a way, once she was more settled. She certainly wasn’t going to let them go without – not after everything they’d done for her!

And to think, it had all happened because Niles had spotted that picture! He’d had to notice her like nobody else had (that thought let a soft blush start to creep across her face), and pick her out even though she’d have changed so much since the painting was commissioned.

She’d changed since being on the journey they were almost concluding, too. And she thought that Niles had played a big part in that, as well.

Things had certainly been a lot better for them, since her...nightmare incident. Well, better but also more...Claire wasn’t sure how to put it. They’d joked, gone dancing, had dinner together…

Typical fun.

And yet she didn’t know what to think about the way she noticed his stares when he thought she wasn’t looking. She only knew that her heart secretly began to race whenever it happened.

The same thing applied whenever they were in a small space, like some of the corridors on board the ship. Feeling him brushing against her as they walked, having to step up behind her whenever anybody needed to pass in the opposite direction...the heat went so quickly to her face, it took all her willpower not to openly blush every time!

Even thinking about it right then was making her feel...warmer under her dress. Certainly warmer than the air currently was, in the early morning sun, combined with the breeze and the light brine coming off the water.

She felt lucky that she was up so early that there was literally nobody around to see. There was something more than a tiny bit unbearable about being caught out, blushing like a schoolgirl...!

She hoped it would go before anybody came along. If it didn’t, then she hoped she’d be lucky enough that they’d mistake it for wind burn, from being up on deck for so long.

And nobody could blame her for that. They’d understand completely why she’d been up there, staring out at the city that contained her entire destiny!

Nobody would even suspect that it was about Niles...

Not when she could be up there to dream all over again about every aspect of her grandmother, and the life that she’d have now that she would be living in Paris...

The more she feigned thinking about that, the more she actually got to thinking about it. What would it be like? She had no idea what the life of a noblewoman – royal or not – entailed!

She’d be relying heavily on her grandmother to teach her how everything worked, just like she’d been relying on Niles and Fran to remind her of all the things she’d forgotten. But, just like with her friends, she was sure that she’d be a fast learner for her Grandmama.

Her real-life Grandmama...she’d dreamed of having even one single relative for so long, when she’d been in the orphanage, and now she truly did have one!

Claire beamed to herself, letting the warmth of happiness that the thought produced spread through her chest.

And in her head, she began to rehearse exactly how she was going to greet her grandmother. What she was going to say, once they’d been introduced. Conversation topics soon followed – anything ranging from favourite foods and music to...well, her family, obviously.

Her Grandmama would fill the gaps in her memory, she just knew it. She’d tell her all about her Mama and Papa, all of her siblings, and slowly the family would start to gather in her head.

They would come back to her, and Claire would come home to them.

 

Little by little, the rest of the passengers began to appear on deck, sleep still lingering on their features. Most of them cracked a smile upon meeting the wonderful sight ahead — they had arrived at last.

Soon, there were passengers, adults and children alike, clutching at the railings of the ship, chatting and laughing excitedly. Fingers pointed ahead, booming laughter was heard, bodies hovered over the railings and called for loved ones to come and see...

It was simply heart-warming.

Or at least it was to Claire.

She couldn’t help wrapping her arms around herself; despite the knowledge that she was one step closer to her family (or what remained of it), part of her wished she’d have been able to enjoy from this unique sight with a loved one rather than on her own. She was used to being alone, yes, but she’d gotten tired of it.

She stepped away from the railing with a sigh, suddenly no longer in the mood for any more sightseeing, and started to head back to her cabin. A few young kids pushed past her upon noticing the clear spot she’d left behind at the railing; their mother followed closed behind, calling their names and apologising to those her children had shoved aside in their quest to wrestle for a good spot at the railing.

A little ways behind the mother C.C. spotted two familiar figures, both dressed to the nines.

And, silently, the need in her heart to share the sight with somebody retreated. Not all the way, obviously, but it backed off enough.

It didn’t feel the need to be so present when Niles was so near, looking perhaps the sharpest she’d ever seen him in his suit, clearly also having run a comb through his hair.

Like Fran, who was draped in a gorgeous red dress, he clearly wanted to make a good impression. They were both beaming from ear to ear, apparently ready to get started almost as soon as they’d gotten off the ship.

She smiled at them both as well, and went to meet them as they came to her.

“I knew that I’d heard ya gettin’ up early!” Fran called out happily just before they came to stand together. “I thought that ya might’ve come up here ta take a look at yer new home! Whaddya think?!”

That was when it was Claire’s turn to beam.

“It’s...wonderful. Better than I’d ever imagined!” she nearly felt tears arriving already, and decided to turn the conversation onto other things before she did. “And you both are looking wonderful, too! Niles, I didn’t realise you could ever possibly scrub up so well!”

Niles looked slightly smug at her in return, “At least I’m fully prepared for today.”

Blinking, Claire looked down at herself. She thought she’d come up ready for their meeting today already!

“I’m wearing the best thing I own,” she said, looking back up at them both. “How much more prepared for today do I need to be?”

Fran shook her head, “Nothin’s wrong with how ya look, sweetie – yer gorgeous. But what we got in mind is just a little bit...snazzier.”

Before Claire could ask what that meant, Fran took her by the arm and they began to guide her back down to the cabin. Once there, they made her sit, whilst Niles rummaged through the wardrobe and pulled out a long, well-hidden box, tied with a ribbon.

Another surprise gift for her...?

It certainly seemed so judging by the way Niles placed the box in her lap with a flourished bow.

Upon opening it, she beheld the loveliest dress she’d ever seen! The cream-coloured garment was even more formal-looking than Fran’s, and it rippled like water when she ran her hand over it. 

She marvelled at each layer of the fabric, “It’s...it’s...”

“Beautiful? Perfect?” the words rolled teasingly off Niles’ tongue. “Something you need to thank two certain, down-on-their-luck Russian nobles for?”

Fran smacked him on the arm for that, and grinned at Claire, “Pay him no attention, honey – it’s not like he got to pick that dress out himself! Come on – let’s get you fitted out before we dock!”

And so, they did. By the time the ship was in position to dock, Claire had slipped into her new dress and was wearing it with a new sense of pride. She loved being able to swish the lace of her sleeves through the air – it made her feel light, like she was floating.

Then the trio was quick to grab their luggage, made a last-minute check of their cabins, and headed off towards the exit, where many of the other passengers were already neatly lined up as they waited for the pier workers to settle the gangplank between the ship and the shore so they could get off. Just as they’d done when boarding the train from Petersburg to Poland, the trio split and went to stand in line separately. Niles and Claire went first, hand in hand and fake wedding rings on their fingers. They still had the counterfeit papers that had allowed them to get out of Russia, and they clearly said they were the newlywed Mr and Mrs Osinov; admittance to France depended on their ability to play the part, and they were dead set about getting it right.

Still, the notion of being married to one another was making Claire’s heart flutter and a powerful surge of emotion to course her body. They’d done this before, yes, but somehow being there, holding his hand in hers, smiling up and exchanging giggling kisses with Niles was making her feel…

Uh…

Making her feel _how_?

 _In love,_ a small voice said as they handed their papers to the French immigration officer. _She was in love._

She would have liked to say that the realisation had hit her like the train that hadn’t killed them all, but that wasn’t the case. The more she thought about it – the more she analysed her recent interactions with him, the more evident the truth was.

There was no room for confusion in her head; there were no questions about it, or any sense that she could simply be mistaken.

She was in love with him. That was better. No mistakes, or potential confusion about how she felt.

She was...in love with Niles. She was in love with the prince-turned-servant who had (dashingly) saved her from a train wreck, and from being drowned, and had offered her the chance to return to her family...

She was so deeply into the feeling, the man himself had to tap her on the arm to remind her to take her papers back. She was actually slightly disappointed when that happened – the longer they were being checked by the immigration officer, the longer they were acting out their little married fantasy.

But, eventually, they did have to leave. They were holding up the line behind them, and as Niles reminded her with a soft (it was like dripping honey to Claire) murmur that they were expected elsewhere.

They walked arm-in-arm as they reached dry land, beaming all the way for the security and immigration officials. Somewhere behind them, they could hear Fran wrestling with her suitcases, trying to manoeuvre them down and onto the side of the dock. They would have helped her, but for the sake of keeping up the charade they’d agreed they would meet up again once they were outside of the port and away from any immigration officer that could ask them one too many questions that would put their plan in jeopardy.

So, still acting as a pair of newlyweds, Niles and Claire moved to the exit, laughing and giggling and holding one another close. Again, this was almost torture for Claire – if this was what faking felt like, then she couldn’t imagine what the real thing would be like. Or what it would be like to be his actual beloved…

The thought depressed Claire, and although she kept a sunny disposition, she suddenly felt an urge to pull away from Niles. She remembered Fran’s words on the train – Niles had not only lost his family the night of the revolution; he’d lost his beloved, too. How could she, a simple amnesiac girl (Grand Duchess or not) compete against that? He surely wouldn’t dare tarnish his beloved’s memory, much less on Claire’s account. She had nothing to offer him except a heartful of dreams and hopes. She wasn’t the one for him, and no matter how painful that was, she had to understand it.

She had to respect it.

Even if that kill–

“ _Claire!_ ”

Niles calling her name bluntly interrupted her reverie, “Uh?”

“I asked if anyone is looking at us,” Niles whispered to her while in the middle of a pretended Eskimo kiss as they walked past the port’s entrance.

That brought her right back to the present time.

She let her eyes dart around them very quickly. About the only advantage of growing up in an orphanage that practically doubled as some sort of gulag was her ability to check on whether she was about to be caught doing something.

She knew what it was like to be watched. Not that anybody was, today. They were all too busy getting where they had to go, or helping people get where they had to go, or stopping them from going where they shouldn’t go...

They had nothing to fear.

Ironically enough, the certainty of being safe sent a nagging feeling right to her heart and stomach – the minute she said no, he was going to be the one pulling away. There was nothing she could do about it, either, even if the realisation made her want to cling to him.

He knew that her checks, even when they were made in substantial crowds, never took very long. She had a quick eye for that sort of detail, and he’d pick up on it if she took her time just to spend a few more moments cuddled up...

That thought clashed violently with the thought of wanting to pull away herself, but it was there, nonetheless. She had no right to stay where she was, and had no chance if she even tried, but enough of her desperately wanted to try anyway!

Both feelings were so fierce, they were making her start to ache...

But that was distracting her from the problem at hand, and after a few more moments careful consideration, she decided it would be better to tell the truth.

Niles would never lie to her, so she owed him the same courtesy!

So, taking in a deep (but slow, so it wasn’t seen or heard) breath, she shook her head.

Niles himself quickly mirrored her check with one of his own. Not because he didn’t believe her – he practically relied on her eye for detail! – but so that nothing had changed in the seconds that she’d used to answer, and to keep an eye on the pathways ahead of them, as well as the ways off to either side.

It was a common team effort used in his early days as a conman. Back when it had been extremely useful to have plenty of escape routes.

They might still come in useful at some stage, but for now they appeared to be getting away with it. The immigration officers and port security were all quite far away.

The only person who was still close to him was Claire...

Although, from out of the corner of his eye, there was one person who was getting closer, rushing along with cases and bags swinging either side...

Fran was due to meet them properly outside of the port, but she probably didn’t want them too far out of her sight, either.

And, knowing now that they were only being watched by the one person there they could trust, Niles slowly pulled away from nuzzling at Claire. Still, he held onto her hand, and continued to do so until they were out of the port.

“Well, that worked wonderfully!” exclaimed Niles, “Now, we only need to wait for Fran and then we’ll be off to Prince Maxwell’s home!”

Claire frowned – Prince Maxwell? Who on Earth was he? And why did they have to go to his home? Weren’t they supposed to be going to her grandmother’s house? No one had said anything about this, and Claire wasn’t one for unexpected changes in plans.

“Pardon me?” Claire said, pulling her hand back to her and out of Niles’ grasp, “I thought we were going to see my grandmother!”

“And we are, Your Imperial Highness,” Niles replied, setting his case down on the floor, “But first we must meet with Prince Maxwell Sheffieldorovich. No one meets the Empress if they don’t… pass Prince Maxwell’s interrogation.”

 That set off an alarm inside of Claire – interrogation?! No one had said anything about an interrogation! How on Earth was she going to answer questions about a life she barely remembered? And what for, at any rate? If Niles and Fran had been able to recognise who she was, why wouldn’t her own grandmother be able to do so too?

There was something off about all of this, and Claire couldn’t help but feel her heart begin to race in her chest.

“Interrogation?!” she hissed at Niles, “You never said anything about needing to pass an interrogation!”

“Claire, it’s just a formality,” Niles replied just as Fran came hurtling towards them, “It’s just to make sure you are not an impostor; many have tried to deceive your grandmother over the years, so this is just a fail-safe. You’ll be fine.”

Claire didn’t feel fine. She felt more than a little bit like she’d been talked into something that she couldn’t (easily) back out from.

But she did have to admit that Niles’ reasoning sounded solid. If there had been impostors over the years, determined to trick her grandmother into believing that it was really her, then it was no wonder they’d added another layer of security.

It started to make her feel angry, too – how dare people think that they could just waltz in and take complete advantage of her grandmother like that?! Didn’t they have any moral centre, tricking an elderly woman who wanted nothing more than to find her granddaughter?!

To find her...

And they were wasting time again with her panic. The sooner she got to Prince Maxwell’s, or whatever his name was, the sooner she could (hopefully) pass the test and be on her way to meet her grandmother!

Then the imposters could stop calling.

So, letting out a huffed breath, she shifted her weight to her other foot and looked at Niles.

“Alright. Okay, which way do we have to go?”

“We are off ta the 7th arrondissement,” panted a newly arrived Fran as she too set her cases down on the floor and slumped against the wall, clearly having exhausted herself by carrying all her luggage, “More specifically, ta Rue de Grenelle, where Prince Maxwell and yer grandmother live.”

“It’s the most aristocratic district in Paris,” added Niles, “A perfect place for royals such as Her Imperial Majesty or yourself to live in, Your Imperial Highness. And the faster we get there, the faster you will be able to see your grandmother.”

Claire couldn’t help it – she had to smile then. Niles was right. They had to get moving! She was at a stone throw’s from the family she had longed for since she’d a notion of being. They couldn’t fiddle about, not when they were so close to their goal.

Feeling a surge of newfound energy and purpose, Claire reached down and grabbed one of the cases, “Very well. Let’s get moving then! We can’t afford to stand here burning daylight, can we?”

Niles grinned at her newfound enthusiasm, and grabbed another case, almost in a show of solidarity.

“We certainly can’t,” he said, looking over his shoulder at Fran. “Let’s go – I’m sure Her Ladyship the Countess Fineova will be delighted to lead the way?”

Fran took an eager step forward, “That I would, you two. If you’d care ta follow me in this direction...?”

She gestured further down the road they were heading along, before starting to lug her suitcases in the direction she was pointing. Niles and Claire followed, each wearing the same grin at the idea of reaching their destination.

 

* * *

 

Prince Maxwell Sheffieldorovich didn’t think he’d ever had to run faster but look less flustered at the end of it in his life. It wasn’t often that one had to appear cool and collected after scrambling up from one’s chair, but today was different.

Today, he’d heard the bell. And, once his butler had answered it, he’d told the prince that the Countess Fineova was at the door. That called for him getting there immediately but looking his absolute best when he did.

His heart had leapt, on realising his love had finally come! She’d finally made it out of Russia, alive and well, and he’d see about her getting her to stay permanently the minute she was in his arms again!

His butler had then, of course, followed the fantastic news up with the reminder that she was also bringing Prince Niles and the lass who was supposedly the Grand Duchess Chastity-Claire, which had more than slightly dampened his spirits.

But he hadn’t been able to complain about it, because he knew that he’d agreed to them turning up as well. Agreed to let them into his home, all for the purpose of finding out what he really and truly already knew - that she wasn’t who she said she was, that Prince Niles had indeed put her up to it, and that it was all a scam designed to weasel money out of the Dowager Empress.

But he had his plan, of course. All counter-designed to make sure that the Dowager Empress never even heard about this unofficial attempt. The minute this “Grand Duchess” was questioned, she would collapse under the pressure. She’d reveal herself to be an imposter and that would be that.

She and that conman Prince Niles would be out into the street before they both knew it!

He was only going to see them at all to see Fran. He’d only do such a thing as disobey the Dowager Empress and interview one more candidate (if only for a little while, without her knowing) for her.

And she was the first person he saw when he got to the three guests stood in his hallway.

She really was there, looking just as beautiful as the last time he’d managed to see her. It warmed him greatly to see that no matter how much she’d been through, both back in Russia and to get to Paris, she hadn’t lost that beaming smile of hers, either.

And she wore it all over her face as she hurried to meet him.

“Maxwell, honey!” she embraced him the second she was close enough. “We finally made it, sweetie!”

Maxwell held her tightly back, grinning so hard it hurt, “You certainly did, my love!”

They then both pulled back to share a soft laugh, which ended with a kiss.

And all the while, Claire stared at the two.

Fran was...in a relationship with this man? She hadn’t said a word about it the whole way to Paris! She supposed Niles must’ve already known, but Fran could’ve told her that they were heading to see her lover first!

Fran’s lover...who was apparently the same man who worked for Claire’s grandmother...

It was all becoming a little confusing in her head, so she turned to Niles. She hoped the look on her face was enough to tell him that she wanted an explanation.

It seemed to be, because he turned to her enough that he could lower his voice (probably so as not to ruin the moment for the couple, but the closer contact made Claire’s breath silently catch in her throat anyway).

“They’ve been together since before the Revolution,” he said. “He managed to flee the country, but because they’re not married, Fran wasn’t able to go with him. They’ve been writing back and forth - Fran told him all about you, and as he already works here, he agreed to set up a meeting with your grandmother.”

Oh...well, that made at least a bit more sense. It didn’t let Fran off the hook entirely as to why she hadn’t told her - even in passing - that she had somebody and that they were going to see him, but Claire figured she could find all of that out later.

For now, she had to focus on what was about to happen. Prince Maxwell and Fran had finished greeting each other, and now the brunette was bringing him over to introduce them all.

“Maxwell, I’d like to introduce you to...”

The prince only heard the first part, as Fran gestured to Niles and the other man gave a courtly nod in return. Not that Maxwell was paying the conman’s gesture much attention - the full sight of the girl they’d brought with them had taken it all.

She looked...more like the Grand Duchess would do now than any of the other girls that had been paraded through there...! It was actually astonishing - spine-chilling, even - how much she looked like a more grown version of the little girl whose photograph the Dowager Empress still kept by her bedside!

But it couldn’t be her! There was no way on Earth that the actual Grand Duchess had survived - this girl had to be the best, most convincing impostor he had ever seen!

And she was...looking at him in a funny manner...

Why was she looking at him like that? Did he have something on his face? Prince Niles was looking at him in the same way - like he was the one acting oddly by noticing their strange behaviour!

Maybe it was just them, and Fran knew what was going on...

But the woman herself cleared her throat, catching his attention before he could ask.

“Honey,” she muttered to him. “I just introduced ya to ya new guest, ya might wanna say somethin’ back...?”

The impoliteness of how he’d just involuntarily been acting snapped Maxwell back to the present.

“Oh!” he near-cried out, offering the girl a smile and a slight bow. “My sincerest apologies! How do you do, Miss...?”

“Claire,” she replied. “Just...Claire. I don’t go by the last name the orphanage gave me.”

Maxwell felt his knees nearly give out.

Claire...the girl’s name was Claire...

No. It had to be coincidence, didn’t it? It couldn’t be more!

He had to get on with it and prove that she wasn’t who she - or Niles - claimed she was. This interview was the only way to get everything over and done with, and out of his head!

“Claire. A pleasure,” his voice was weak but he kept his smile strong to make up for it. He then gestured into the living room. “Please, if you would care to step this way, we can begin our interview...”

He let Claire go ahead, but he stopped Fran and Niles from going along with her.

He had one dire warning for them.

“If either of you speak one word while I’m asking these questions, the interview will be over. Is that understood?”

Fran blinked, not expecting the stern words and look that he was giving them both. She hadn’t come all that way, only for him to turn around at the last second and plant that rule in there!

She nodded quickly, not wanting to make him upset, and turned her eyes to Niles, who looked...a little uncomfortable, but not as shocked as she’d been.

In truth, Niles was busy thinking about why Maxwell had put the rule in. He was expecting them to try and feed Claire answers, and he was going to cut them off from doing that.

Not that they’d been intending to do such a thing!

So, he also nodded. That seemed to satisfy the prince in front of them, and they were then allowed to go through, into the living room.

“Please, take a seat,” Maxwell said, gesturing over at the sitting area, where a tray with tea and biscuits awaited atop the coffee table, which in turn was surrounded by four upholstered settees. “Would you like a cup of tea, Miss Claire?”

Maxwell awaited, breath held. This was the girl’s first test — according to the Dowager Empress, her girl did not drink tea. When she was young, she’d disliked it intensely and would always prefer to drink coffee or warm milk.

“I appreciate your offer, Your Grace,” said the girl with a smile, taking a seat, “But would it be possible for me to have some coffee or milk? I don’t like tea.”

Well... it looked like she’d gotten the first test sorted.

“Of course, Claire,” said Prince Maxwell and he turned to one of his butlers, who was stood by the door, awaiting his orders, “You’ve heard the lady, Jaques, bring her some milk.”

With a nod, the butler scuttled out, leaving the two princes, the countess and the alleged Grand Duchess alone. Once everyone was seated, Maxwell retrieved a small notepad and a fountain pen from his jacket-pocket and cleared his throat.

“So, let’s start with the basics,” said the Prince, “When and where were you born?”

“Peterhof Palace, February 25th, 1905,” replied the girl with confidence.

Maxwell nodded as he scribbled something (probably that she’d gotten it right) down on his notepad.

“Good,” he said in an unimpressed fashion (after all it hadn’t been that difficult a question), “And your full title is...?”

“Her Imperial Highness Grand Duchess Chastity-Claire Stewartevna Romanova.”

“Correct,” replied the Prince. “Now, Let’s move to something a bit more difficult...”

For the next hour and a half Maxwell fired question after question, and Claire came out on top of each of them. They covered practically every detail of the Grand Duchess’ life, and both Niles and Fran couldn’t be prouder of their student. She’d (unwittingly) learnt her character to the letter, and they were one step closer to the reward.

Or so they thought, until Maxwell uttered his last question.

“How did you and your grandmother escape?”

Niles felt his insides freeze solid, right down to his blood halting so suddenly, his heart stopped.

They’d never told Claire about the escape! How the hell had they forgotten to tell Claire about the escape?! It was the first question most people would think to ask - would want to know! - and they’d forgotten it!

That was it. It was over. She was going to get caught. They were all going to be caught, and it was all because they hadn’t told her about how she’d managed to get out of the palace in the first place!

Well, out of the palace and as far as he’d managed to get the Dowager Empress and his love, anyway, before he’d had to let them go on by themselves and caused his love’s death in doing so...

He dropped his eyes to the floor, his heart only thawing from its panic to start sinking into despair. It was just as well that mourning fell on him then - he couldn’t bear to watch Claire flounder and be caught, anyway.

He was beyond sorry that he’d lied to her, and that they were about to be thrown out into the street by Prince Maxwell. It was justice, for the way he’d behaved, but she didn’t deserve it.

She deserved better than–

“We...left the palace, with the help of a...a serving boy. He took us through back corridors behind hidden panels, that only the servants used. We came out in the kitchens, and escaped into a side street. He...had to leave us at some stage, and we went on by ourselves. That was just before we got to the station, and I hit my head...”

Niles’ eyes had snapped back up by the time she’d said the first sentence, reacting like he was hearing a bomb going off. There was no other reaction to have - not when he knew that serving boy had been him, and that there was no way Claire should have known that!

He’d thought that there was no way she could have known that!

By the end of her words, having listened in silent shock to them all, he was reacting as though said bomb had blown him backwards, sending him to land heavily on the ground, and he was trying to pull himself back to his feet.

He had to do everything in his power to prevent his mouth from dropping open, or from collapsing out of his seat and blacking out on the floor.

But he couldn’t help his breathing starting to gather speed. Nor the sensation of his entire body going numb. Nor the feeling of his head starting to spin (though he was grateful he managed to keep himself firmly where he was).

He couldn’t even stop his heart from trying to hammer its way out of his chest. It was starting to beat so hard, he thought it might...

Not that he cared.

He couldn’t care when it was her.

Because it really was her, wasn’t it?

Claire really was the Grand Duchess Chastity-Claire, last surviving Romanov and the love of his life! She had lived - she’d lived, and grown, and he hadn’t sent her off to her death!

He’d never felt such a lightness in his heart! Some of the guilt of the past few years had lifted - he had no need to carry that part of it anymore; not when he’d found her again, alive and well, and was returning safely to her grandmother!

And then...and then, he didn’t know what would happen after. But Claire – Chastity-Claire, he corrected himself - would have her family once more, and that was what mattered most.

Not that that was truly his doing, the guilt still clinging to his heart reminded him. He had lied to her all the way to get her there - he’d never thought she was the Grand Duchess, and had only thought of the money for so long!

That wasn’t true anymore, but he hadn’t brought her there in the faith that she’d been promised. She’d been conned, as much as the Dowager Empress had, and it was all his doing!

She wasn’t ever going to want to see him again, if she found out...

He’d have made an excuse to go and try to compose himself (feeling tears threatening to fall) but he was so sure she was going to pass the interview now, he didn’t want to mess it up by saying anything and end up with Maxwell taking it all away because he’d misunderstood.

No, he had to stay where he was, and discreetly wipe any tears away with his handkerchief.

But it was so hard, when his love was so close, and he had done her so much wrong...

Really, it was fortunate that Maxwell asked her his next question, otherwise she might’ve looked at him and seen that something was...affecting him.

“I see. What happened after the, um...incident at the railway station?”

Claire bit the inside of her lip, feeling a pain settle in her heart at the way he’d phrased the words. It made her think that her Grandmama had seen her fall, and hit her head, and not moving afterwards. She’d only had that in her head for all the years they’d been apart, had probably told Maxwell all about it, and hadn’t had the slightest clue of what Claire was about to tell to the prince.

“I...was confused for a while. People found me wandering around the station with a head injury. Because I couldn’t tell them who I was, or who my parents were, they sent me to the local orphanage.”

She saw Maxwell raise an eyebrow at that, but he didn’t make any kind of comment so she supposed he’d move on.

And move on he did, “And your, um...your memories; how long did it take? For you to realise who you were, I mean?”

Claire frowned, unsure about how to answer that. There hadn’t been a moment where she’d remembered everything. She’d started remembering little by little, clinging onto the little information her brain had been willing to surrender, and trying to make up the pieces so as to understand who she was; where she’d come from...

In the past few months she’d remembered so many things — perhaps more things than ever before! But there were still huge gaps, which she hoped her grandmother would be able to fill. Niles and Fran, for all their good intentions and effort, simply couldn’t provide her with a lost life. Only Marie could.

“It took me... well... about six years, I think,” she said, wringing her hands in apprehension, “It wasn’t easy, because most of my memories were gone, but they... they started coming back... both the good and the bad... little by little…”

Maxwell began, perhaps for the first time since the interview had begun, to feel sorry for the girl. She seemed truthful in her answers, and considering that the actual Grand Duchess had fell off a train and hit her head she could have very well be suffering from amnesia. But despite the physical similarities between Claire and the Grand Duchess and a more plausible story than any of the one the other impostors had said, doubt lingered.

Could this really be her? He knew he had blatantly disobeyed Marie by even accepting to see the child; he couldn’t take her to Marie if he wasn’t a hundred percent sure that it really was the Grand Duchess.

But how could anyone be certain?

“I see,” Maxwell said, closing his notebook, having run out of questions to make.

It was then when something caught the Prince’s eye — a glinting medallion, made of the shiniest white gold and decorated with emeralds and rubies, hanging from the girl’s neck. Where had she gotten a necklace like that?! A commoner could have never afforded such a fine piece of jewellery!

“What is that?” Maxwell asked, pointing at the pendant.

“This?” Claire said, removing the necklace and handing it over to Prince Maxwell, “I’ve had it since I can remember. It is what guided me here in the first place since it says “Together in Paris” at the back.”

Maxwell turned it over, studied the inscription, and blanched.

Marie had told him about a necklace just like the one the girl was wearing. It fit a music box that the Dowager Empress still kept, and it was...one of a kind...complete with inscription.

Was it possible that someone had taken it from the Grand Duchess? Stolen it, or...or looted it, from...from a body...?

 

No. That wasn’t possible if the girl had had it for as long as she could remember. Her memory covered at least part of what had happened after the night of the Revolution, and she’d had it that next morning...

The cogs ticked over in his brain, working harder and faster than he’d ever felt them work in a long time. The Prince actually thought his head might spin, the effort that was being presented!

It put it all together, until it all clicked into place.

The face, the age, the memories. The orphanage story, the escape from the palace...the necklace...

It had to be...her...

The rest of Maxwell’s thoughts, feelings and reactions took a minute to catch up after that. His eyes nearly popped out of his head when they did.

Dear God, it truly was the Grand Duchess Chastity Claire!

“Y-Yes...there is a...more than simple reason for that inscription,” he told her, trying to discreetly compose himself and remain calm. He had his dignity to uphold still, and he was starting to feel guilty for not believing her before. “Your grandmother had moved here previously and knew you would come here, to be with her for the summer...Your Imperial Highness.”

Claire’s eyes, which had been wandering towards where Niles was looking oddly sullen, suddenly snapped back to Prince Maxwell.

He’d...he’d just called her “Your Imperial Highness”!

“You...just called me–”

“By your title, my lady. If you will forgive my interruption,” Maxwell corrected, before adding the latter part very quickly.

 He then rose to his feet, prompting Niles and Fran to do the same, and approached Claire. He motioned for her to pull her hair out of the way, and fastened the jewellery back around her neck.

He then took a step back, and bowed. Niles did the same, whilst Fran curtsied. They knew how they were to greet the royal family still, even if it had been a number of years...

Claire – well, she supposed her name must’ve been Chastity-Claire, now –  would have forgiven Maxwell then for all the interruptions on the planet, with or without the bowing (which she didn’t yet feel used to, coming from someone other than Niles).

But he believed her! That meant that he’d take her to see her grandmother!

Her Grandmama...she’d waited so long to find out what being embraced by a relative would feel like, and so very soon, she’d be finding out!

She clutched at her re-tied necklace, delighting at the thought of her grandmother’s overjoyed face (or what she imagined it would look like, anyway) and thinking about where she’d start with all the conversations they’d have. All the memories they’d share.

And all of the things they’d do, now they were back together.

Fran and Niles had come out of their curtsy and bow, too, although the former looked a great deal happier than the latter did.

Fran leaned in towards Maxwell, a beaming grin starting to stretch itself over her face, “Now, didn’t I tell ya that we’d found ‘er?”

They certainly had, but Maxwell didn’t think it appropriate to admit that he’d never once thought that they were telling the truth in front of Her Imperial Highness. That would be an insult, and that was the last impression he wanted to give!

Instead, he smiled at her warmly and took her hand, “You did, my love. You both have a wonderful eye for spotting missing people!”

Not that they could call Her Imperial Highness missing anymore! She’d been found, and the search could be called off both officially and unofficially, forever.

There was only one thing left to do now, and that was to find some way of telling the Dowager Empress. But how to go about it? He couldn’t exactly say he’d interviewed another candidate behind her back and that he was really sorry about it but could he please be let off for it because he was sure it was her this time.

That wouldn’t go down well, and he was sure Marie wouldn’t listen. She was too tired, from too many disappointments.

He had to take Fran and Niles aside, and let them know what he was thinking. Plus, he had to quietly admit his fault – they deserved to know in the least, as well as receive an apology for him doubting them.

Luckily for him, he had the perfect idea to get some alone time with Fran and the conman-turned-ally. He gestured for he gestured for one of his butler to come forward and he then addressed the Grand Duchess.

“Now, seeing as you will all be staying here for the next few days, would Her Imperial Highness like to be shown to her room so as to get refreshed and perhaps rest for a little while after such a taxing journey?”

Claire looked over at Fran and Niles, almost as if asking for permission to accept the offer. Had Niles not been so wrapped up in his own emotional turmoil he would have regarded the situation as bordering on funny – a Grand Duchess asking permission from a servant boy was something practically unheard of!

“It’s okay, sweetie!” said Fran, smiling warmly at the girl, “Ya go and get some rest. Yer gonna need it if yer gonna meet yer Grandmama!”

That thought got Claire back to smiling (beaming) and she readily got to her feet and followed the butler out – not before bows and a curtsy were given by the other three minor nobles. They remained in polite silence until the moment the Grand Duchess had effectively left the room and the doors to the sitting room were closed behind her, at last giving them some much needed privacy.

“We need to talk,” Maxwell said before Niles or Fran could get a word in, “about how to get Her Majesty the Dowager Empress to see Her Imperial Highness.”

Fran and Niles looked between each other, blinking. From the way Maxwell was speaking, it sounded as though they weren’t officially being granted a meeting. They were going to have to do it some other, more clandestine way...

It was almost like...like...

Fran turned back to face the dark-haired prince, “Max, honey, the way yer speakin’ here...well, it kinda makes us both think ya haven’t told the Dowager Empress that we were comin’!”

Maxwell looked at them both sheepishly.

And that was more than enough of an explanation for his guests.

Fran’s jaw dropped, “Ya mean she doesn’t know we’re here?!”

“It wasn’t as simple as just letting her know!” Maxwell blurted out in return. “She didn’t want to see anymore interviewees - she’d given up hope, and wouldn’t have listened if I’d told her! Especially not coming from Prince Niles - he is notorious for his schemes and cons, and I couldn’t, in good faith, send anybody from him to her without thorough checks first!”

Niles would have been insulted if he wasn’t aware that it was true, and he was also preoccupied by the fact that he couldn’t believe what he was hearing - they’d nearly come all this way, having almost been killed on the journey, only to fall at the final hurdle?! The only reason they hadn’t is because he hadn’t said a word to the Dowager Empress?!

Part of him wondered what he would’ve done if they had been denied earlier. If they’d come to Paris but had been turned away from the door...

Claire – Her Imperial Highness – would’ve been devastated. And it would’ve been up to him to comfort her...

“But she is the Grand Duchess, so I owe you an apology,” continued the prince, forking his hand through his hair. “Now we need to find a way to get the Empress to see the Grand Duchess...”

“And how do you propose we go about that, exactly?” Niles asked, folding his arms over his chest and his expression souring.

Maxwell thought about it, going over potential opportunities to talk to the Dowager Empress, and from there, getting the two royal women to meet.

Well, he did see one open opportunity...it was happening practically right away, there would be plenty of time for the two to see each other, and it meant that the Grand Duchess would get her first taste of upper class society in many years!

He had it.

“That’s it!” he snapped his fingers in a way which suggested he was actually saying ‘bingo”. “The Dowager Empress is going to the ballet tonight! I’ll be driving and accompanying her there - I can talk to her then, and see if she’ll agree to meet you!”

He couldn’t be any more sure than that if Marie would say yes. But, for the real Grand Duchess, he was willing to try.

Niles looked dubious. Part of that was to do with what Prince Maxwell was saying, but it was mostly because the fantasy of just asking a newly-comforted Claire to forget about it all and come away with him was now taking over in his mind, even if he knew that could never be possible.

They had realised it was her, and all his dreams were firmly back when he was a serving boy, watching her from afar in the palace.

But Fran’s enthusiasm made up for what he was presenting to the outside world.

“That’s marvellous!” she clasped her hands together happily. “What time should we get there? Where do we get tickets?”

Maxwell moved to wrap his arms around Fran and planted a loud smooch on her cheek and then on her lips, “I already have them, sweetheart,” he said, “I was planning on inviting Grand Duke Kirill Vladimirovich and his family, but since you are here I shall give them to you!”

“Well isn’t that wonderful?” Fran crooned, nuzzling Maxwell, “But, honey, none of us have anythin’ to wear! Anythin’ proper I mean…”

Maxwell, completely aware of the hidden intentions behind Fran’s words, smiled down at her “Ah, well, then it looks like a shopping trip is in order, isn’t it?”

Fran squeaked gleefully and bounced on the balls of her feet.

“Thank you, sweetie,” she kissed Maxwell on his lips again. “You have no idea what this’ll do fer us!”

“There’s no need for that, my darling,” Maxwell smiled at her adoringly. “I will see to it myself that you are the most beautiful woman in all of Paris. Not that you aren’t already, of course...”

Niles felt like he wanted to be sick just watching them. He’d decided within the last few moments (it may or may not have coincided with his realisation that he could never be with Claire) that other couples suddenly looked nauseating, and that it wasn’t worth mentioning love at all.

Not that any of that prevented him from feeling it. He just felt it with the added knowledge that there was no point to him even knowing what it felt like.

Not if he wasn’t ever going to get the chance to use it.

The couple in front of him were continuing their plans, too, which only made him feel ten times worse about it all.

“What would you say if we went in about an hour?” Maxwell suggested, offering Fran an arm to lead her off elsewhere in the house. “I rather feel that a private catch-up is in order...”

Fran looped her arm through his, snuggling further into his side as they walked out of the living area, “I’ve been thinkin’ of nothin’ else the whole way, honey...!”

They disappeared around a corner, leaving Niles by himself. He scowled after them.

“Don’t mind me, then,” he called after them sarcastically. “I’m just a conman, after all, being left alone in a room chock full of valuables...!”

Even if he had been that kind of man anymore, he wouldn’t have worked up even an ounce of effort to look for something he could pilfer.

None of it seemed worth it anymore. He was too miserable to think anything else. Money, fame, fortune - all of them went out the window. He didn’t care, and wouldn’t want any of them if anybody tried to offer them again.

Those people wouldn’t have understood.

He didn’t think he’d ever be able to explain (not without falling to his knees in despair) that no amount of any of them was worth what he was losing.


	13. Chapter 13

**_ Chapter 12 _ **

**_Paris, France_ **

**_July 17 th, 1923_ **

To say that the shopping trip had been a bust would have been an understatement. The entire day had been a bust, and it kept getting worse and worse. He’d been dragged all over Paris’ exclusive fashion district, and made to go into every store, where he’d had to wait what he’d felt was only a peg or two away from an eternity.

Both Fran and Claire — again, Her Imperial Highness — had found their dresses, which they had been adamant about keeping away from his and Maxwell’s eyes, claiming it would simply ruin the surprise. Niles highly doubted it — she could be wearing a potato sack for all he cared, and she’d still be the most gorgeous woman on Earth. Having had to see her there, trying on fine jewellery and clothing, had felt like it was prolonging his suffering.

Because, once this was over and she was reunited with her grandmother, she’d truly be out of reach. Forever.  He’d have no chance whatsoever to marry her, or even to frequent her circles. His name was mud, filth of the lowest kind — the likes of him simply weren’t worthy of even looking at a rare jewel such as the Grand Duchess.

He was, in their eyes, to be considered fortunate just for being allowed to step foot inside a grand home, such as that of Prince Maxwell’s.

They’d also be laughing at the idea that he’d been allowed to play dress up with the rest of them. The suit that he’d fetched from his case might’ve been good enough to look at for the evening, but it didn’t make it anywhere near as expensive, elegant or exquisite as what the ladies would be wearing.

“Would be” having emphasis on it, of course. He was waiting for them to make their grand entrance, and had been doing so for what currently felt like an even longer amount of time than the shopping had taken!

He wasn’t eager to get to the ballet, by any means, but he knew that Claire was. And, as much as it hurt his heart, her happiness would always take precedence.

Maxwell had already gone ahead, to try and start the ball rolling by driving the Dowager Empress to the ballet.

If everything went...well, within the expectations some were having, then Her Imperial Highness wouldn’t ever have to worry again about where she belonged in the world.

It was at the complete opposite end of the spectrum to his place.

If he hadn’t already known that for a fact, the way both women were to dress that night would have made him realise it, all by itself.

It all started when he saw Fran start to come down, dressed to the nines in the brightest emerald green Niles thought mankind could produce, and she gestured to herself and her meticulously-styled hair with a flourish.

“Now, if I ever said before that I was dressed fer an occasion, I was wrong. This is the only outfit I’ve ever worn that’s acceptable ta wear to a party.”

Niles gave her joke the chuckle it had earned, and complimented her lightly. But he couldn’t keep his attention on his friend for very long. He was too busy waiting with bated breath to see how Claire would look.

Of course, he knew she’d be gorgeous no matter what, but it made him curious all the same.

Luckily, the suspense didn’t have time to kill him because he didn’t have to wait much longer. She descended the steps only ten minutes or so after Fran, more delicately and less eagerly than Fran had.

She was still trying to get used to her new dress - a deep, ultramarine blue number that fitted to her form, and swept downwards, straight to the floor. Over her bear shoulders (her hair was pinned back to keep it neat) hung a sort of lace cape, which would flow beautifully behind her whenever she moved...

If he hadn’t known who she was, Niles would have guessed from this picture alone that she was royalty.

And he would have fallen in love with her, all over again.

It was only the strongest willpower he possessed that kept him from openly gawking at this...this...angel? Living goddess? No title seemed worthy enough of her as she descended the steps towards him, and as she got close enough for her perfume to drift, he caught a scent of it and nearly fell to his knees in adoration...

But, at the same time, she was so far beyond his reach, it broke his heart all over again.

She smiled at him - warmly, like the sun on a beautiful summer day - as she descended the last few steps, and she gestured down to herself.

“Well,” she breathed, clearly nearly overwhelmed by it all. “How do I look?”

Fran immediately gushed over how fabulous she looked and how all the eyes in the room would be on the Grand Duchess, but Niles had to mentally kick himself to get his brain to communicate with his mouth.

“You...you look...” he grasped for one word out of the hundreds upon hundreds fighting for a place on his tongue. “Beautiful...”

He then wanted to kick himself for real because out of all the words he could’ve used, he used the simplest one? There were flowery poems, ballads and sonnets that he could’ve recited that would only express half of what he felt, but would have been better, and yet he went for “beautiful”?

He was a fool.

And yet a pinkish glow came to Claire’s cheeks anyway.

“Thank you...” she paused, turning her eyes to the floor. Then she looked back up, putting on a more graceful air and extending her hand towards him. “Would...would His Grace, Prince Niles Josephovich Brightmorov, care to escort me to the ballet tonight?”

That made Niles feel like there were fireworks going off in his chest.

She...she had called him by his title! Like he was equal to her, instead of a servant that had just been of use to her...

Like he was a noble again, in title as well as in spirit. Because she made him feel noble again inside, every time he was near her...

Therefore, he could only give one answer to her request.

“It would be an honour and a pleasure, Your Imperial Highness,” he replied, bowing to her.

Then, Niles offered his arm to the Grand Duchess, who readily took it and laced it with her own. She hoped that he hadn’t noticed just how flushed she was, even if part of her was certain that her face was currently of a beetroot colour.

Even if things for her were finally falling into place, she still felt like the same little lost orphan that had left St Petersburg only a few weeks before. She was unsure of herself and felt both a bit like a misfit and wallflower, and that feeling worsened tenfold (as did her natural clumsiness) whenever she was around Niles.

Why couldn’t she behave like the supposed royal she was?! It would certainly be more appealing to Niles (or any other man)!

But she was willing to try her best to ensure that this night went according to plan. And, once she was back in her grandmother’s arms, she could see about trying to get Niles to fall in love with her. It wouldn’t be an easy task — after all, the memory of his dead love probably overshadowed any feeling he might have for her — but she was anything but a quitter.

She didn’t really have any experience that told her how she’d go about that, but she’d still try anyway. There always had to be a first time for everybody, didn’t there? And even though she knew she’d never replace his first love (what kind of a callous witch would she have to be to do that?), perhaps it was possible that she could be his second?

Everybody deserved a second chance at happiness. And she wanted nothing more than to make him happy.

He certainly looked happy, there with her arm through his. It had to hurt him deeply, knowing that the girl he really wanted was...well, not there anymore, and never to return. But Claire was delighted that in that moment in time, it was all being pushed to the back of his mind.

They were going to have fun at the ballet.

She gripped his arm a little as they began to make their way outside. The car would be waiting, and then the theatre would be waiting beyond that...

And her Grandmama was waiting right along with it.

She couldn’t help but voice her excitement as they went through the front door, into the night.

“I can’t believe this is really happening!” she nearly squealed. “I’m about to meet my Grandmama!”

“That you are, Your Imperial Highness,” replied Niles while Prince Maxwell’s butler opened the door for them. He could only just about keep hi emotions in check – because, even if he was happy for her, he couldn’t help but despair over the fact he was losing her. Part of him simply wanted to simply snatch her and take her far away, somewhere they could be happy and form a family. He wanted to kiss her senseless and then fall to her feet, sobbing and thanking the Lord that she was alive.

But he would never allow himself to do so. He’d never put his own selfish wishes over what was best for her. He couldn’t provide her with even a tenth of what her grandmother could, nor would he accept her to give up her title and status for a sewer rat such as himself. No, he had to bite the proverbial bullet and bear it, even if said bullet would eventually end up shattering his very soul.

Hopefully, if he was deemed good enough by the Grand Duchess, he’d be able to remain in her service. He’d be her dutiful servant, following her wherever she went, and pledging his very life to her happiness and comfort. He’d remain by her side even when she eventually got married and formed a family of her own. He’d bear that for her, the looking from afar. Longing from afar. Never stepping a toe out of line but always dreaming of what loving her and being loved by her would feel like.

After all, wasn’t he used to it? The years between the revolution and Claire having come into his life had been a continuum of seemingly endless days; days he’d spent dreaming and thinking about her. He’d lost count of how many times he’d envisioned a future together, married and happy, living together in a beautiful house with golden-haired little angels running around them and, perhaps, a few loyal canine companions.  

He’d long since accepted that would never be, of course. He just had to get used to that idea again, that was all…

This night was all about her, and he would do everything in his power to make sure this was the best night of her entire life.

So he made an extra effort to put on a beaming smile as they came up to Maxwell’s Rolls Royce Phantom I, whose door had already been opened by the chauffer that had been appointed to drive them to the opera that night. He was also dressed to the nines, wearing his best suit and pristine white gloves. Nothing but the best for a Russian Grand Duchess.

“And you’ll get to see a wonderful performance of the Swan Lake to boot!” Niles added to his previous statement as he helped Claire and then Fran into the car.

He didn’t get into the car until he saw that they were already comfortably seated. And all the while as he got his seatbelt on and arranged himself to make the journey as bearable as he could, he watched Claire as she looked around her excitedly. It was obviously the only memory she ever had of being in a car - and it happened to be one of the most luxurious cars a person could possibly obtain.

She’d have luxurious cars aplenty, once she was fully immersed into her new life. Perhaps her future husband would be interested in them, and they’d take romantic drives in the countryside...

Niles had to force his grin harder onto his face, and to pay even harder attention to what was being said by Fran.

“Oy, it’s gonna be just stunning! And ta think, it’s also technically yer first outing in high society!” the brunette nudged Claire playfully, but not so much that she’d mess up anything about the Grand Duchess’ appearance. “Well, I mean you’ve yet ta be introduced ta society, but this’ll be yer first taste of it!”

Yes, Niles thought. And there would be no turning back once she’d had it.

There really was no turning back, as the car began to pull away...

This was it. This was when, out of love, he was letting her go to the life she should have always had.

This, he knew, was the prelude of the hardest goodbye he’d ever face.

* * *

Marie could swear these performances were getting progressively more boring with every passing year. She had always regarded the Paris Opera and its ballet as one of the best in the world, but she didn’t know why she bothered anymore. She clapped politely as the fourth act came to an end and the dancers did the curtain call, bowing and waving politely at the adoring crowds.

It was only fair, though – these dancers deserved their moment of glory after months of hard work. She was bitter alright, but that didn’t mean the rest of the world had to follow her lead. As a matter of fact, Marie was a firm believer that the world _needed_ a little bit more cheer and kindness in it, but she just wasn’t the woman to do it. She had lost the capacity to enjoy from life years ago, and there was no indication it was coming back anytime soon…

But, despite all her grousing about it, she had to admit the ballet did help pull her thoughts away from her beloved grandchild’s uncertain fate. No, she corrected herself sternly as her brows knitted into a delicate furrow, her grandchild’s fate wasn’t uncertain – Chastity-Claire was dead. She couldn’t deny it anymore, no matter how much she wanted to.

Sighing and feeling a familiar sense of crushing loneliness, Marie looked away from the stage, suddenly unable to look at the pretty young thing that had played Odette; it reminded her of her C.C.. Her girl had been a talented dancer back in the day, and Marie had delighted in watching her practice for hours on end…

Her eyes scanned the spectators instead, looking at the different smiling faces, so unaware of the heaviness in her heart and the pain she’d carried since the night of the revolution. Men and women, all decked in their best jewels and clothing, were clapping enthusiastically and laughing; they were having a jolly good time…

How she missed being able to do so, too.

It was during her careful observation of one of the many rows of seats that she spotted something that made her heart skip a beat – actually, it nearly caused her to have a heart attack.

But it shouldn’t have! It shouldn’t have because her eyes couldn’t have been seeing what they were!

There appeared to be a young lady down there with...well, extraordinarily familiar features!

Features which so closely resembled her own, set in a face which still looked familiar, it made Marie lean out of her seat to get a closer look, thinking of the possible existence of ghosts...

But she had to shake herself out of that one and sit back down. Ghosts did not exist.

It was horrible, and it was unfair, but it had to be a trick of the mind, brought on by her previous thoughts, and made visible by the position of how the young lady was sat and the dimness of the main theatre...!

But she was soon proved that it wasn’t.

The young woman eventually turned away from making eyes at the young man next to her, and Marie caught sight of her face-on.

And every cell in her body froze in place.

Down there, in front of her, was a young woman who could have been an older doppelgänger for her own beloved granddaughter!

And all that sent a loud, sharp gasp through Marie’s lungs (spooking Maxwell in the meantime) that launched her out of her seat again, to take a better look at the girl’s profile with her opera glasses.

“It...it can’t be!” she studied the crowd, eventually singling the girl out. “It’s impossible!”

And a voice from by her side, somehow without even knowing what she was looking at or seeing, spoke up about it.

“So, you’ve seen her...”

Wait.

What?

There was only one person with her at this event, and he was the only person there that she knew. So, how did Prince Maxwell know who she was looking at?! She had given no real indication of which member of the audience she’d been looking at, and she was going to get answers as to why he’d asked that question!

Besides, saying “spotted her” implies that he already knew who she should be looking for in the first place...!

She turned to the prince, making sure she looked him as directly in the face as she could.

“I beg your pardon, Maxwell? Who do you believe that I could see?”

The nobleman gulped audibly, but nevertheless he leaned in, closer to Marie so no one but her would hear, and he spoke, “Your grandchild, Your Majesty. Grand Duchess Chastity-Claire Stewarevna Romanova.”

If they hadn’t been in public, Marie would have either broken down in tears or slapped the insolent prince across the face. Marie might have been an elderly woman, but her mind was still as sharp as a butcher’s knife – she didn’t need the prince to admit what he’d done; she’d already figured it out. He’d continued to interview girls behind her back, disobeying her express command to let her beautiful grandchild rest in peace at long last.

Not only that, but he’d had the audacity to bring her to her without her having any knowledge of it nor having consented to it. He had backed her into a corner, her impeccable royal education prevented her from throwing a scene in public. But if he thought she’d partake in his games – that she, Marie Feodorovna Romanova, Empress of All the Russias, would yield to the demands of a mere prince, then he was very wrong. No one told her what to do – she was, quite literally, Empress of her own country, and she ran her kingdom how she liked it. Things had to be done her way or they weren’t done at all.

And she certainly wasn’t going to let herself be tricked again. She simply couldn’t stand another heartbreak. Not again.

“It is her, Your Majesty, I swear,” the Prince insisted, an almost pleading edge to his voice, “I interviewed her for hours, and she got everything right! She’s come all the way from Russia alongside Prince Niles and–”

“Excuse me?!” snapped the Empress, “Did you just say that you agreed to see – that you _actually saw_ and have brought to me a girl that has something to do with that… that conniving bastard?! The very same man who’s been holding auditions to find the perfect Grand Duchess?!”

There were few people Marie hated more than Prince Niles Brightmorov – and that was saying something!

His father had been a gambling boozer and a cheat that had eventually had to exile himself after having squandered his family’s fortune and had reduced his poor wife and children to servitude. She had believed the family to be dead after the Revolution, but then reports of Prince Niles’ activities had reached Paris thanks to many trusted fellow Russian émigrés.

It seemed that the younger prince had been following in his father’s footsteps into a life of immorality and criminality, and Marie hadn’t liked one bit of it. She’d promised herself that she would never have any kind of dealings with that...that thief! She would not let herself be sucked in by pure charm and nothing else!

Pure charm had let Rasputin into the royal court. Pure charm was the reason her family was dead.

And she didn’t know if she could forgive Prince Maxwell for letting such an unwanted visitor get so close!

He didn’t seem to be able to say anything, at any rate. It was like he’d been rendered speechless by her outburst – most likely through fear.

It was fortunate that he was, really. She wasn’t done with what she had to say, and she didn’t need him interrupting with blundered apologies that begged for his job to be spared.

“He is the very last person I’d ever want involved in the search! He is a criminal, with no morals and a complete disregard for other’s feelings! He’d happily leave an imposter on my doorstep and not think twice about the hurt the lie would cause when I found out! I thought you knew better than that, Maxwell!”

That seemed to be the Prince’s cue to speak again, words stumbling together in a panicked whisper, “Your Majesty, I beg you, you must see this girl! I know what this man is and what you’ve been told about him – I initially intended on rejecting him, but the girl… it really is–”

“No she is not!” Marie hissed, slamming her fist on the arm of her sit, “Maxwell, my grandchild is dead. She fell off the train and died of a blow to her head! It’s done – it’s over! She did not survive. I know you’ve devoted your life to finding her, and I appreciate it, but I will not see that girl. I don’t want to hear anything more about this or about my grandchild! You will go now and tell that man and his…actress to leave, never to return.”

“But, Your Majesty–”

“It’s an order, Prince Sheffieldorovich!” Marie nearly screamed, trying to hold back tears – she didn’t have enough strength to do this anymore. She couldn’t fight anymore, much less with one of the few allies she still had. She wanted it to be over, no more disappointment, no more pain… she had to allow herself to finally grieve what she’d lost.

Silly dreams and hopes weren’t healthy. Not at her age.

Perhaps having realised that she was not going to change her mind, Prince Maxwell rose to his feet and bowed low to her, “I understand, Your Majesty,” he said softly, “I shall do that now, and then I shall drive you to the house.”

He watched as Marie nodded wordlessly, before she dismissed him with a wave of the hand she was using to discreetly wipe away tears.

Then, with his heart racing and his mind set to frustrated panic, Maxwell all but ran through the theatre to find Niles. He and the Grand Duchess (it truly was her!) still in their seats, having a quiet conversation whilst Fran had obviously gone to powder her nose.

It was unfortunate that there wouldn’t be anybody to keep Her Imperial Highness occupied while he saw to Niles, but that was the way things went.

He leaned over the seats towards them, “Niles? Might I have a word with you in private?”

He had to say that quickly, before either of them got the idea that Marie wished to see them right then. And Niles looked surprised by it, but didn’t complain. He excused himself politely from the Grand Duchess’ company and went with the other prince.

The other prince, who didn’t say a word of what he wanted to until they had left the theatre itself and were safely in the corridor outside.

“We...we have a problem,” Maxwell admitted. “The Dowager Empress is refusing to see you both.”

Niles’ jaw dropped and he looked back over his shoulder briefly at where the Grand Duchess waited.

“What?! Why?!”

There was a short, uncomfortable silence during which the only thing Prince Maxwell could do was sheepishly look at Niles and utter an incoherent string of wannabe-words. How could he possibly explain this to Niles? It would devastate the man! But then again, there was no sense in beating around the bush – he had to say it, openly and clearly, regardless of the sensibilities it might or might not hurt.  Time was running short; they couldn’t afford to fiddle about when the Grand Duchess’ return to her family depended on them.

He had to speak the truth, no matter how blunt and unpleasant it was.

“It’s because of you, Niles…” Prince Maxwell eventually confessed, right hand reaching back and stroking his neck, “You see, the Empress caught wind of your… quest to find the perfect Chastity-Claire. As a matter of fact, I initially planned on kicking you both out once the interview was over…”

Maxwell couldn’t help feeling an uncomfortable heat spreading across his face. Now the idea of kicking either of them out was simply inconceivable. The girl was the Grand Duchess, and as such he owed her respect and allegiance. He was willing to go out of the way to ensure she was back where she belonged. He wasn’t giving up yet.

Niles, meanwhile, was growing increasingly devastated with every word that was being spoken by Maxwell.

He should have known that he’d be the reason the Dowager Empress wouldn’t see them! He’d been nothing but a giant con merchant to so many, it was no wonder that word had gotten out, and gotten back to her!

He should have seen it coming, if he was honest. The life he’d chosen for himself was one that deserved punishment, at the end of the day.

But what on Earth was he going to tell Claire?! She was innocent in all of this, and still expecting a warm welcome from the Dowager Empress at any minute!

She was sat in the theatre right then, expecting her future to open up, not for the door to be slammed in her face!

And the worst part was, it was all Niles’ fault. He’d done this to her, right from the very beginning!

And she’d know it if he told her. It even made his dreams of what would happen if she couldn’t take her rightful place - of her running away with him to some little house somewhere in Europe that they could fill with love and the sound of laughing children - feel like they were slipping away.

She’d hate him for all of it, and he felt his breathing starting to quicken.

“We can’t let things turn out that way!” he exclaimed. “We have to do something!”

Maxwell turned this way and that, apparently pacing on the spot as he thought, “Of course we can do something! We’re intelligent, we can think of a way out of this!”

The way he was moving so agitatedly suggested to Niles that the other man was, in actual fact, panicking because he was trying so hard to think of what to do and he was coming up with nothing.

And Maxwell’s mind was indeed going a mile a minute - what could they do? Marie wasn’t expecting to see them again, and if she saw that they were still at the theatre...well, he didn’t know what she would say!

Or, perhaps worse, what she would do! If she decided to sack him from his job over this (he didn’t like to think about that really, seeing as he’d been indispensable over the years, but now he was having to face the facts), they’d all be out on the streets!

They had to get Her Imperial Highness out of there. But he wasn’t going to let her go off somewhere else without seeing her grandmother!

Perhaps...perhaps they could turn the Grand Duchess’ leaving into another opportunity? She was staying at Maxwell’s house, after all...

It wasn’t too far-fetched to get them to meet there instead, was it?

Yes! That was it! Niles would take the Grand Duchess back to Maxwell’s home while he himself would do the same with the Dowager Empress – Marie always stayed at his home after the opera or the ballet. His home was closer to the theatre and deep down, Maxwell suspected, she liked to have some company. Going back to an empty house was, more often than not, one of the most scathing reminders of her loss. Maxwell, having lost his own elderly mother to the Revolution, had always disliked the thought of leaving Marie alone to fend for herself, so he’d often invite her to stay with him and he’d been the one who came with the suggestion that she spend the night at his place after the opera, something to which the Empress had readily agreed.

This was it, then. Their last chance to try and reunite the Empress with Chastity-Claire – they had to get the two women to meet at Maxwell’s home after the show.

“I have it!” he declared to the other man, finally ceasing in his pacing, which had become more frantic the more excited for his own plan he got. “The Dowager Empress is staying at my house tonight - she can meet the Grand Duchess there!”

Niles blinked, his fists slowly unclenching as he listened.

Listened, but still slightly doubted.

“But what if she finds out that we’re both going to the same location?” he asked, feeling his heart sink even as he said it.

Maxwell shook his head, complete sure of his idea.

“They won’t - not if you take Her Imperial Highness home right now. Her grandmother will never suspect a thing, and then they’ll have to interact!”

Niles nodded along to the plan, thinking, “Alright...but what should I tell Cl- I mean, what should I tell Her Imperial Highness?”

“The truth,” Maxwell nodded, not fully understanding why the word made Niles flinch involuntarily. He went on to explain what he meant. “That her grandmother will meet her at my house.”

Niles relaxed once he had. His mind had automatically gone to the truth he hoped Claire would never find out, even if it was looking increasingly likely...

“Now, go!” said Prince Maxwell, “Quickly – time is of the essence.”

With that, Maxwell gave Niles an uneasy smile, turned on his heel and rushed back to Marie´s box. Niles watched him go with a growing sense of dread. Part of him knew that, one way or the other, he would lose his love. If the meeting with the Empress went wrong, Claire would find out what he’d done and would probably never want to speak to him again. If it did go well, she would be swallowed up into a life of class and luxury, and she would live the rest of her days in comfort and happiness, far away from him.

But it was what needed to be done.

Her Imperial Highness deserved to know who she was, even if that came at the cost of his own happiness.

So, after taking a deep breath, Niles went back to the theatre, heart heavy and mind ridden with worries.


	14. Chapter 14

**_ Chapter 13 _ **

**__ **

_119 Rue de Grenelle_

_7th arrondissement_

_Paris, France_

 

It had started raining, since they’d been inside the theatre.

Marie liked nights like this. It reflected how she felt, after years of loneliness. How she felt after years of fruitlessly searching for her grandchild.

She hadn’t wanted to accept it. She’d refused to even think about the possibility – that’s why she’d agreed to interview so many potential C.C.’s...

But with each failed attempt, Marie’s resolve had wavered further. And her heart had been broken over and over again.

But she was done having her heart broken. She’d made that decision already, and she was still angry at Maxwell for having tried to ignore it.

There was nothing to be said or done on the matter. Her beautiful grandchild was gone, just like the rest of her family, and she wasn’t coming back. She’d failed to save her, and she was paying for that mistake. She longed for death, but life clung to her, like an unwanted parasite. Only in death would she be able to see her son and grandchildren, and it kept avoiding her...

She’d had to decide that if she was to live on, then she would harden her heart.

No one would be allowed near it again.

Especially not that boorish con merchant everyone had warned her about, and that actress that he’d plucked from nowhere, whom she had to admit would probably have been good at what she was trying to achieve.

From a distance, she had looked just like how she’d imagined C.C. would grow up - tall, beautiful, completely and utterly a woman in her own regard.

If Maxwell had allowed her to get any closer, Marie could bet that the girl would’ve been strong in character, too, and refined in every way.

Like steel. Like her granddaughter...

But that was not her granddaughter. It couldn’t have been.

She’d never had that kind of luck in her life. Her son was dead, her daughter-in-law was dead, and so were all her grandchildren.

All of them.

At least she wouldn’t be alone that night. Maxwell never denied her a guest room in his house, whenever she had come from the theatre. It was closer than her own home, and, really, it meant that she had someone to talk to on the nights when the loneliness and the guilt felt at its worst.

Just like she would have done, had she only held onto C.C. more tightly that fateful night...

Or, if she hadn’t been such a coward in getting away, and had let C.C. get on the train first!

It was a nightmare she relived every night, sometimes fixing the horrific reality by imagining a happy fantasy, only to wake up to emptiness.

And although that thought brought tears to her eyes, she refused to shed them. She wouldn’t allow herself to cry anymore.

At least, not around people.

If she was to cry, she would do it in the safety of her provided room, where there was no one to see her shame and her grief. She didn’t want to be consoled either – her heart was beyond repair. The pain couldn’t be remedied. She was done for.

For all she knew, she was already dead. She was a dead woman walking – heart beating in her chest, yes, but soul already gone.

She hid it well, though – there was no sense in worrying others. She couldn’t go around ruining other people’s lives with her bad moods. She knew most of her friends almost felt...well...guilty, when they were happy around her. No one talked about family around her, and she was usually the last to be told about people getting married or new babies being born. It was sickening.

It wasn’t fair.

She missed being happy...

She missed smiling.

But most of all, she missed her family.

The car coming to a halt before Prince Maxwell’s manor brought Marie out of her gloomy thoughts. She tried putting on a soft smile when one of Maxwell’s footmen opened the car’s door for her and helped her out, but the most she managed was a grimace that was half-way to being what she wanted, only smaller and insincere.

Both empress and prince walked to the house in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. As it had become a habit of hers and Maxwell after every outing to the Paris Opera, Marie headed to the sitting room, where he knew a warm cup of tea would be waiting, along with homemade biscuits.

Today she was really looking forward to this cup of tea.

However, as it became apparent the moment she stepped foot inside the office, this chaotic evening wasn’t quite done. Not yet…

Sat on of the settees, was…her.

The girl she’d seen from afar, now up-close.

Marie immediately halted, confused beyond all reasoning.

“What the Devil is going on here?!” she demanded to know. She turned back to look at Maxwell trailing in behind her. “Maxwell, what are these people doing...?!”

But the prince gave no verbal reply. He only looked at her with the same pleading look he’d given her at the theatre.

And that was enough to make Marie understand.

“You did this,” she muttered. “You set this all up!”

That was when Maxwell at last confessed, “I had to, Your Imperial Majesty! It was the only way I could get you to see her!”

Marie pursed her lips, “Well, you have succeeded in getting me to see the girl up-close. Now, watch me as I take things into my own hands from here.”

She turned back into the living area, to see that the girl had gotten to her feet, and was now waiting for a greeting of some variety.

Niles, the disgraced prince, her manager - Marie had no other meaningful term for him, legal or not - was stood to one side, and he was frowning deeply.

He had every right to look concerned. His plan was about to fail.

Because Marie did not intend to greet the girl, as was hoped.

Not even if she was able to force a wonderful shine into her eyes, and a beaming smile onto her face, as Marie approached.

She even remembered to curtsy, “Your Imperial Majesty! It truly is wonderful to meet you, at long last!”

After so many years, she was finally in the same room as her Grandmama, the Dowager Empress. Her own flesh and blood - her family, whom she’d never thought she’d see, or even come to recognise, again!

She came up out of the curtsy after a suitable amount of time, and started to silently compare features on the old woman’s face to her own.

They had the same high cheekbones, the same long, straight nose - even the shape of their mouths were similar!

She was so certain that at any moment, the old woman would reach out and hug her, with tears of joy in her eyes and prayers thanking God on her tongue, that she hadn’t consider what actually happened next to be an option.

The Dowager Empress didn’t move. Not to hug her, or to get a better look - not even to shake her hand...

Instead, she just looked her in the eyes, the corners of her mouth turned downwards.

“I don’t know who you are, child, but I know that you are not Chastity Claire. My granddaughter is dead, and the man who brought you here has been auditioning doppelgängers to try and replace her - to con me, for the reward offered on her safe return - for months now.”

Claire might have had blood pounding so loudly in her ears that it made her head numb, but she still felt it as her face fell.

What...?!

Marie continued, “I suggest you return to where you are from, and that you cease all contact with this...”

Claire let the Dowager Empress’ words fade back out, her mind starting to race.

She...she can’t have heard her right...! No, the Dowager Empress had to be wrong, to be mistake - she had to be her grandmother, didn’t she?!

Niles had said...

That was when she really stopped and thought about what had been said before.

Niles.

The man she’d trusted, for all this time, and who’d been...auditioning other girls, to fill the same role as Grand Duchess!

She felt a crack open in her heart like a fissure.

He’d lied to her. Used her. Told her all along how special she was and that there was a destiny waiting for her...

She wondered how many other girls he’d told the same thing, only for them to never make the cut - in one way or another - to go see an unsuspecting old woman (it was obvious by now that they had not truly been expected), who wanted nothing more than for her real granddaughter to come home.

Claire wondered if Niles had made them all fall in love with him, as part of his plan to win their trust.

Only a stone-cold silence met her any of her thoughts or expressions. No one tried to challenge Marie.

Why would they, when everybody in the room had known the truth long before she’d had the blindfold ripped from her eyes?

She felt her breathing speed up, and the world she’d been building around her starting to crumble.

But it was a world, her devastated mind was starting to realise, that had never been hers in the first place.

She wasn’t the Grand Duchess.

She wasn’t a Romanov.

She wasn’t coming home.

She was, again, just Claire. Orphaned and amnesiac girl, lost in a cruel, unforgiving world.

There had never been anyone waiting for her at the end of the road with open arms; no long-lost family member that would have welcomed back and taken care of her. It was all a lie — an illusion. A parlour trick played by an unscrupulous bastard. He’d sweet talked her into doing this, and like a fool she’d fallen into his trap, like a fly is caught in the spider’s web. He’d never cared for her, nor had he wanted her to be happy and go back to her family. He just wanted money, and she’d been a simple tool. A mere scapegoat.

She had no right to be stood in front of the Empress, wearing fine clothing and jewels. It was a travesty — she was no princess, she was a simple peasant who had been stupid enough to make castles in the air. 

This wasn’t her life. Her life was back in Russia. Her life, she now realised as the fissure deepened until it became a crack, was being a bakery assistant. She should have never left. She should have never subjected herself to this — to nearly having died several times nor to making a fool of herself in front of royalty.

She didn’t want to cry — not in front of the Empress, at any rate — but tears simply came. She felt faint, like her knees were about to give way beneath her, or like her heart would stop beating and the Earth would swallow her whole. She was back to square one, only now she was bruised, disappointed and she felt like a fool.

She had to get out. Now.

“Your Majesty...” she rasped, curtsying once more, “I am terribly sorry. I... I didn’t know... I am sorry... I shall be gone in a few moments.”

She angled her body to the exit, eyes cast to the floor, but before she could move Niles came to block her way.

“Claire, please, listen, I—”

Her hand was out before she could stop it (not that she wanted to), and the slap resounded sharply around the room.

It even made Niles stagger a pace, clutching his smarting and reddening cheek.

But it caught his attention for what Claire felt in her breaking heart that she had to say next.

“How dare you?” her voice betrayed just how hurt and angry she was. “You lied to me. From meeting at the palace, to the train ride, to the ferry - all the way here, you lied. About everything. You knew that I was just an orphan with no memories of any kind of past, looking for a family, and you preyed on that, right from the start! From the moment you saw that I looked like that painting, and saw a get-rich-quick opportunity! You never once even believed that I was the Grand Duchess, did you?”

Niles couldn’t answer. His cheek stung too much to explain what he wanted to say, and part of him feared they might not believe him if he told them the truth in smaller bursts - that he hadn’t started out by believing, but so much had happened, he’d seen the truth! He’d changed!

But to Claire, his silence as he clutched at his cheek - painful though it was - spoke very different volumes.

“Just as I thought,” she felt more tears coming, and her chest felt like it was being ripped open. “You really are nothing but a conman, and I can’t believe that I ever thought you might be something more than that.”

Before he could protest (not that she wanted to hear it), she turned once more to the Dowager Empress.

“Your Imperial Majesty, please forgive me for...well, everything,” she sniffed discreetly. “I’ll pack right away and then I’ll be gone!”

With that said, she turned and hurried from the room.

And Niles was now left with the glare of the Dowager Empress.

“Have you no shame?!” the woman glowered. “You lied to that poor girl as well, cheating her out of happiness and telling her where she might find her family, when you knew that wasn’t possible?!”

Niles, again, couldn’t speak. He knew he had to say something — try to salvage the last chance (or whatever remaining microscopic bit of it) he had to ensure Claire’s happiness. But he simply couldn’t will himself to speak. The slap and Claire’s words had silenced him, as had his crushing guilt.

Because this was his fault.

He was solely responsible for the happenings of that evening. He and his own selfish desires. He didn’t deserve happiness, let alone the Grand Duchess to even deign to look his way. He was filth. He was scum. He was the lowest of the low.

A waste of space.

He didn’t care about his heart breaking or about how he’d never be happy again. He only cared about his beloved, and how he had ruined everything.

But, again, to the outside world his silence was only a wordless acceptance of guilt. At least it looked like that to the Dowager Empress.

“You are just like your father,” hissed the Empress, “A crook.

A lowlife, preying on everything and everyone in order to gain a few miserable pennie—”

“I am not like my father!” Niles’ screamed, making the Empress jump, “Don’t you dare compare me to him!”

Marie rammed her cane against the floor, her voice also rising, “Excuse me?! How dare you tell me what I can or cannot say?! I am the Dowager Emp—”

“You are an old fool!” snapped Niles, and pointing an accusatory finger at the woman, “That’s what you are. I am a bastard, I deserve nothing but pain for my misgivings, but that girl you just sent away is your grandchild. You are too bloody bitter to—”

“She is not!” Marie screamed back, “You bastard! Have you no heart? If money—”

“I don’t want the money!” Niles said, anger and sadness coming through in his words, “Keep it. But, for the love of God, go and talk to her! It is her! It is the Grand Duchess! Five minutes with her and you’ll realise that she is who I think she is!”

Marie scoffed, aghast at this man’s gall — at his unscrupulousness. “How would you know? You are—”

“—the boy that saved you and Her Imperial Highness that night. I was the servant boy who got you out.”

Once again, Marie was stopped in her tracks.

He was...he was the boy, who’d gotten them out?

It...well, part of it rang true - he would have been the right age to be a serving boy at the time!

She’d wondered if maybe the boy had been killed that night, too, but she’d never seen nor heard any evidence, one way or the other!

And the entire Brightmorovich family - what was left of it at the time, anyway - had been put to work in the palace!

It was him, wasn’t it?! After all this time, she’d come face to face with the boy who’d saved her that night, and who’d tried to save her granddaughter, and it was...this man.

This man, who was looking at her like he’d spotted a change of heart, or at least slightly of mind, just from looking into her face.

He tried again, more forcefully this time, “Talk to her, and see what you have. I already made the mistake of not doing that, and it’s cost me everything I could ever want in my whole life. Please...don’t end up like me.”

He then gave a half-hearted bow, and showed himself out.

The silence that followed was deafening, and Marie’s thoughts pulled her in to thinking.

Everything that she’d just seen and heard...it was unlike any of these other interviews she’d ever had to take part in! Usually, the girls got frustrated when they were spotted as fakes - they had tantrums, got angry, and tried to insist even harder that they were the Grand Duchess she was looking for!

But not this one. Her sadness had seemed so genuine - so...so real!

And the way she’d spoken to the disgraced Prince Niles - the anger she’d shown towards him, told Marie that she’d been surprised and hurt by the whole revelation.

She truly hadn’t known that she was being lied to...

That had only led to one conclusion in Marie’s mind. She’d imagined that it really could be her.

But why had she imagined that? What was it about an orphaned peasant girl from somewhere - she knew not where - back in Russia that made her think she was a lost Grand Duchess of the Romanov dynasty?

The curiosity seeped in through all the cracks, and Marie felt her resolve about never seeing another girl start to waver.

To waver, and then, as the thought got stronger in her head, to crumble.

She had to see this one, didn’t she?

She looked over towards the stairs, where the girl had disappeared to, and frowned thoughtfully. As she did that, she saw Maxwell, apparently nearing on-edge, out of the corner of her eye, and she looked more directly at him.

“Go,” he whispered softly, encouragingly. “Please, Your Imperial Majesty...”

She hadn’t needed the incentive from him, because the mere thought of what she might find out was more than enough at this stage, but she nodded at her friend anyway, just before she began to make her way towards and up the stairs.

And every step she took, she thought about what she was allowing herself in for again, and accepting it all.

It couldn’t be Chastity Claire up there. Not really. But whether it was her or not, she was going to ask. And for the first time in many months, Marie hoped that it was her all the same.

She wanted to hear why the girl thought she could be her granddaughter, and then make up her mind (and settle her heart) from there.


	15. Chapter 15

**_ Chapter 14 _ **

****

**_119 Rue de Grenelle_ **

**_7th arrondissement_ **

**_Paris, France_ **

**_July 17 th 1923_ **

 

The tears obscured Claire’s vision, but she didn’t let that get in the way of her packing. She had no choice but to make sure she did it swiftly, and that she then got out of there even quicker than that.

It was going to be humiliating enough, having to walk out of that house, with nowhere to go and no one to turn to. She didn’t need the extra embarrassment of looking like she was dragging the whole thing out and taking her time!

She folded everything neatly, making sure it all fit perfectly to make room for other things as the case steadily began to fill and the guest bedroom’s wardrobe began to empty.

It would be as empty as she felt, soon enough.

She had no idea where she was going, once she left that house. A hotel for one night, probably, and then a train back to Russia in the morning. She’d see if she could return to her job at the bakery, and continue on with life as if nothing had happened.

That last part was really an impossibility, but for the sake of her heart and her peace of mind, she had to try.

And it was all the fault of one man...the man who’d bought her the dress she’d just come across, hanging in the wardrobe.

She stared burning holes through it, wondering how many women he’d bought dresses for, to make them look more presentable...

She wondered how many he’d gawked at, like he’d done with her, and how many of them had fallen for it, too...

She would have ripped the thing into pieces if it weren’t for the fact she didn’t have much, clothing-wise, and despite its unfortunate origin, she had to admit that it really was a good dress.

She had little money left, as such she couldn’t afford to waste money or refuse proper clothing simply because the person who’d given it to her was the lowest scum on the face of this Earth. Once she had enough money to buy more clothes, she’d get rid of it (probably burn it) and effectively erase any trace of that man’s presence in her life. She wanted nothing to do with him — she wanted to forget him. To cut all ties with him and let time take away the pain he’d caused. She wasn’t sure that would ever happen, but she had to try.

 Claire yanked the dress from its hanger and, instead of folding it neatly like she’d done with her other clothes, she balled up her dressed and tossed it into the case. She might not be able to destroy it (yet) but she wasn’t planning on taking much care of it. Not when it represented the biggest disappointment in her life.

“Whoever it is, I’m going as fast as I can!” the girl shouted upon hearing a knock on her door. She marched back to it, drying up her tear-stricken cheeks. “I’ll be out of your hair in no–”

She’d opened the door at that sentence, and noticed that it was none other than Empress Marie Feodorovna. C.C.’s eyes widened and her voice got quieter.

“Time...”

She immediately curtsied again, trying hard not to whimper and wiping her tears away even harder.

Had the Dowager Empress herself come to make sure she was moving along? Surely, she’d have sent a servant, or maybe Maxwell, if she was feeling especially generous...

Not that it mattered. Either way, Claire was still expected to go, and she’d be going at any minute.

“Your Imperial Majesty...! I-I was almost ready to–”

“Hush, child,” the Dowager Empress took a step forward, obviously with the intent of entering the room and making Claire step aside automatically. “I...have some questions, that I feel I must ask you. And that will delay your...”

She cast her eyes over the suitcase, mostly full now, with the balled up dress sat messily on top of the rest of her clothing.

“Leaving,” she finished, before turning back to Claire.

The young woman swallowed, all the while trying not to make it obvious. What questions could the Dowager Empress possibly want to ask her?

She had nothing to offer her. She was just a peasant girl - a baker’s assistant who’d be back on her bike, making deliveries, by the end of the month.

It would have been better - easier - if the Dowager Empress had just let her go quietly...

But she couldn’t exactly refuse the questions, either. This was still the Dowager Empress, after all - no amount of sadness, or desire to just leave without any more fuss or attention paid, would get her out of answering.

She had to face up to it. She had to be brave, even if she didn’t feel like it.

The questions couldn’t last forever, after all.

Taking in a silent, steadying breath, she followed the old woman into the room, watching as Marie studied her case, and cringing internally at how messy everything currently was, where she’d pulled open the drawers to take back all of her things...

“What kind of questions, Your Imperial Majesty?” she asked carefully, hoping it wasn’t rude or presumptuous to even think of posing the question.

The Dowager Empress turned and looked at her.

“Well, questions such as “who are you, really?” and “why did you think you truly could be my granddaughter?”.”

Oh, so she was going straight to the matter and had openly asked the big questions, then. How wonderful...

Claire had no real answer to neither of those two questions. Or, if she was being honest, she had no satisfactory answer to them. She didn’t know who she was; she didn’t even know if the pendant she was carrying was effectively hers or not! And as to the second question...

Well... it was rather obvious why she’d thought that, right? She’d been groomed to believe she was royalty, and she’d been naive enough to take the life of the Grand Duchess and use it to feel gaps in her own. In hindsight, it all sounded too good to be true...

How hadn’t she seen Niles’ true colours was beyond her.

But as they say, it was what it was, and in order to get back to any semblance of her old life in Russia she needed to talk to the Dowager Empress first. She’d be as brief as possible, and then she’d get going, never to bother her again.

“I... I am afraid I am not certain who I am or what my identity is,” Claire stammered out, “I cannot remember anything before I was twelve except for my name, my birthday and... well... not much more.”

“How so?” asked the Empress, making her way to the bed and sitting there, next to Claire’s luggage; much to the girl’s surprise, Marie actually grabbed her dress and began to... carefully fold it?! “How come you don’t remember any of your childhood?”

Claire gulped, “I... I had an accident, as a child. I was found on the night of the revolution, wandering alone and confused near the train station. I sustained a nasty fall and hit my hear against the railings, and I suppose that must have caused me to forget...” Claire took a few unsteady paces towards the Empress and lifted some of the hair covering her right temple, revealing a long scar that reached her ear, “See? This is the scar.”

Marie studied the scar, nearly touching it with the tips of her fingers. Her eyes grew wider the longer she looked, and she felt her heart starting to rise into her mouth.

The girl...she’d gotten that on the night of the Revolution...?! And near the train station!

Even thinking of that dreadful place made her think of her Chastity Claire, crying out as she fell away into the darkness and the train took her Grandmama away forever...

Could it....could it really be...? Or was it just coincidence? So many would’ve had to have been trying to escape that night, and a lot of them would have been coming  through the train station! Any number of little girls might have been there, and any number of them might have sustained injuries, or got separated from their parents...

But...what if Chastity Claire had been the only one?!

“Oh...how awful,” Marie felt her heart growing heavy. “It...must’ve been very painful...”

The girl pulled away and shrugged, her beautiful midnight-blue dress swirling around her lean (if somewhat spindly) body and making a soft whooshing noise. Midnight-blue was her C.C.’s favourite colour...

“I don’t remember, so it really doesn’t matter,” said the girl with a sad smile, “The painful part were the stitches.”

Marie quirked an eyebrow in a manner that indicated she wanted to hear more, something which Claire was quick to pick up on.

“I was found by a nice woman who tended to my wounds,” explained the girl, “She then took me to the orphanage were I was to spend the next few years, until I escaped.”

“Didn’t anyone adopt you?”

Claire scoffed — she wished! It would have certainly saved her a great deal of trouble.

Ekaterina had been the reason she’d never gotten adopted. She didn’t want them to be adopted - not when they could tell everybody about what went on in the place. The woman simply wouldn’t let prospective parents see all of the kids, some of the time, and she absolutely never let Claire be one of the ones she did let perform for all of those couples, like a trained monkey.

And, of course, she’d always been sure to taunt the ones who were never even given a hint of a chance.

And the more Claire thought about that taunt, the more she realised that now it was actually true.

“No one wanted me,” she said, before starting to shake her head. “But it didn’t matter. Eventually, I’d had enough of living there and I ran away.”

She saw the Dowager Empress’ eyebrows raise involuntarily.

“What made you run away from the orphanage? Where did you go?”

Claire flinched – she’d rather the Empress hadn’t asked that. There was no way to sugar-coat the reason behind her leaving the orphanage. At least no way to do so without lying, which was something she did not desire to do. At least not to the Empress. Had it been anyone else, Claire would have dismissed the question, but she respected the Empress too much to trick her – she’d been tricked enough as it was, and in a way, Claire simply didn’t want to add to her pain. She didn’t want to fool her, it didn’t feel fair of her to do so.

She had to speak the truth, even if it hurt.

Even if it made her relive ghosts of a horrible past.

But if she was to do so, she needed to sit down. She excused herself with the Empress for a moment and pulled up her vanity’s chair and set it in front of Marie, who gestured for her to take a seat.

“I… I escaped because, well… the living conditions were awful,” she confessed, struggling to not look away from the older woman, “And the matron of the orphanage was…” Claire gulped, “… she was abusive towards us, children. She wouldn’t feed or give us proper clothing. We had to sleep on dirty rags on the floor, and she… she beat us, whenever we made a mistake. But she seemed to especially hate me, so I got beaten more often than any of the other children – most of the times with a heavy leather belt.”

Almost as if to prove her point, Claire angled her back to the Empress, leaving some of her scars in full view.

Marie covered her gaping mouth with both hands, her insides all clenching at the sheer horror of what she was hearing and witnessing.

A girl...a girl so very much like her granddaughter, had been forced to go through unbearable pain! She automatically reached her fingers out, tracing the air above the broken and repaired skin, her heart sinking at the very idea of a child crying out in pain and being granted no mercy.

The scars truly were horrific - deep, and long, like they would’ve once run all the way down. And they were layered on top of each other, some criss-crossing over other, older scars, proving that it happened more than once, for years...

It was like they were designed to be there permanently. All so that they would be something the bearer would remember, forever.

The very thought of it happening made Marie feel sick.

How could someone do such a terrible thing to a child?!

“Why...?” she whispered, not able to bring her voice any louder. “Why did she hate you so much...?”

Claire frowned, brushing her fingers over some of the old wounds tenderly. They didn’t hurt anymore, but the memories still did.

And that included the explanation she was about to give.

“I...arrived with my pockets filled with jewels,” she said. “Ekaterina - the matron - she called me a thief, and took most of them to sell for herself. But there was one she didn’t get - a pendant, that I held dearer to me than anything else. I kicked and scratched, and eventually I got to keep it.”

Marie had been struck by the thought of jewels turning up in the girl’s pockets, her eyes flashing back to that awful night, when she’d had to fill her girl’s pockets with the family’s own gems and jewellery...

But she hadn’t frozen until the mention of the word “pendant”. That was when her mind’s eye went to the little flower necklace that she’d given Chastity-Claire, to go with the little music box...

But couldn’t be that. There wasn’t any way that she could ever see that pendant again, or the girl it belonged to.

It was all too good to be true, so it had to be a coincidence, didn’t it...?

Her mouth was going dry, but she just about managed to will herself to ask the next question. The question that would tell her everything she needed to know, and probably put her out of the misery the suspense was giving her.

“What pendant?”

Claire rose to her feet, and went to her suitcase. She’d put the pendant away when packing, having taken one last look at the inscription on the back and scoffing as she did. Whomever had given her the thing wasn’t there, and they probably weren’t looking for her anymore.

She was all on her own.

But she got it back out and showed the Dowager Empress anyway.

“The inscription on the back was the only clue I had,” she said lamely, knowing just how wrong she’d been. “That’s why I came here.”

Marie clutched at her heart as she stared, wide-eyed, at the little pendant. She felt like she could collapse at any moment, but it never occurred to her to take in air.

How could she think of something as trivial as that, when she was looking at something she believed she’d never see again?

There, glinting prettily in the soft light of the room, was the flower-shaped pendant.

It wasn’t a fake, or a copy. Marie doubted that anyone could have made a replica that would look exactly the same, either! The work was too delicate, and when Claire let her turn it over, the words inscribed there proved it...

“Together in Paris”.

Marie nearly gasped aloud upon reading that - it was the real thing. It was Chastity Claire’s pendant, that she had given to her all those years ago!

And this girl had had it with her all the time? Right from the night of the Revolution, never once letting go?

This girl, with her blonde hair and blue eyes that were set in a face that reminded her of B.B., with her refined voice and her strength of character...

This girl, who looked and sounded and acted just like her own granddaughter...

This girl, who.. _.was_ her very own granddaughter! She had to be her granddaughter, there was no other reasonable explanation in the world!

She’d survived the fall. She’d been taken in, and she’d survived then, too. Her little one had always been a fighter, and that hadn’t stopped!

And she’d fought her way to Paris, and now they were back together, just as they should be!

She reached out her hands, cupping the girl’s own, and gripping them more than she ever thought would be possible again.

How good it felt to be able to hold her hands again...

She looked between her little Chastity-Claire (not as little as she once remembered!) and the pendant, tears springing to her eyes.

“This...this is my granddaughter’s pendant,” she murmured. “I gave it to her. I put it around her neck on the night of the Revolution, just before I filled her pockets with jewels, and we ran for the train station. I… I…lost her there...”

She noticed the look on the girl’s face at the story she told, and she tried to keep her voice steady as she continued.

“But I think I might’ve found her again.”

Claire failed to do what Marie had managed when she had seen the pendant - she gasped. It wasn’t loud, but it was audible, and it told the Dowager Empress that she had understood what was being said.

She...she was really...the Grand Duchess...! The Grand Duchess Chastity Claire, of the Romanov Imperial dynasty...

She’d made it. She’d found where she’d come from, and worked out who she was! She had a home, and a history, and she belonged to a family!

Claire felt her chest begin to swell with overwhelming happiness and pride. Belonged to a family...those were words she never thought she’d think, in relation to herself! She had never - before recently, anyway - imagined that she might come face-to-face with anyone who’d call her their relative!

Her grandmother. Her very own Grandmama...!

Letting the tears fall, both grandmother and granddaughter wrapped their arms around one another in a tight hug. A very much awaited hug, at that.

They nuzzled into one another, faces hidden in the crook of their necks as they cried and took in the miracle of being back together. Both had been lost, craving for the love of their lost family, but they were home at last. Neither wanted to let go, but even if they’d eventually have to pull away, they weren’t going to let go at all. Not again. They had one another now, just as it should have always been.

Both Marie and C.C. knew they would never recover what was taken away from them – their family, their Empire, their old life… none of those things would come back, but they could face the pain together; they could heal together. They’d lean on one another, Marie helping Claire fill in the gaping holes of her own identity, and Claire being there for her grandmother during her twilight years.

They’d have their summer in Paris, at long last.

Neither knew who pulled away first (they suspected they might have done so together), but s they did so Marie couldn’t help but notice Stewart's gentle eyes and smile on her precious girl’s face. Her son... how she missed him! But here was his daughter; the last Romanov. The testimony to her son's life. The testimony to Stewart's sacrifice.

She’d honour Stewart and B.B. by looking after their daughter. And she’d make up for the lost time that she could have spent recovering with her most precious girl.

And C.C. really did need to recover. The scars on her back were testament enough to that.

From the way she talked, it was clear the abuse had happened there.

 “I can’t believe it’s really you...!” she beamed through her tears. “You survived so much...! However did you manage...?!”

C.C. sniffed, and managed a watery smile back, “I, um...I had some help. The local baker fed us when Ekaterina wouldn’t. She got me out of there, by getting me a job in her cousin’s bakery...”

Irina had been right – her future had been in St Petersburg.

And St Petersburg had led them to Paris, into the arms of her family. At long last.

"Well, you won't have to depend on other people's good will in order to eat, child," Marie said, slipping her hands into C.C.'s and holding them tight. "You will never want for anything. Especially not food."

She would be given only the finest meals and dishes that money and power could buy. She would take her for lunch every day, and she would make sure the kitchen was always stalked with her favourite treats. Her grandchild had gone through enough hardships as it was, now she deserved to relax and enjoy from her regained status.

And speaking of that, they had to announce to the world that the lost Grand Duchess was alive and well, and back where she belonged. Back where she should have always.

They would have to hold a press conference soon; they would reveal only the most vital information. Marie had learnt to guard her privacy over the years, especially from the press. Many of them were but vultures, always on the lookout for their next story.

Maxwell would take care of that. He always did.

Her priority was C.C., and helping her settle into her brand new life.

But she had to inform Maxwell first, of course. The poor man was probably still feeling guilty about not letting her know, and she had to tell him that not only was everything forgiven, but she had a job for him.

Correction, they _had_ a job for him.

She linked arms with her granddaughter – _her_ C.C.! – and began to lead her towards the door.

“Come, my girl,” she said with a smile. “Let’s go let Maxwell know that he’s off the hook.”

C.C. laughed. It was the same laugh she’d had as a child, only deeper.

Marie had missed it, but she wasn’t going to ever again!

 

* * *

 

Maxwell didn’t know where to start, and the way he had his hand clamped over his mouth in both thought and worry made that obvious to anybody who was watching. That was, if they hadn’t already gathered from the fact that he was pacing to the point of wearing a groove in the floorboards.

Any minute now. Any moment from then, the Dowager Empress would come down with the humiliated and unrecognised Grand Duchess, see her out, and then she’d turn on him. He’d be in for it - well, his job would be, at any rate - and she’d disgrace him to all the nobility of Paris!

How would he make money if no one would give him another job? How would he afford the wedding he wanted with Fran? Why would she even want to stay with him, after he had made such a fool of himself?!

It was over. All of it – his whole life, all he’d known and all he had saved up and prepared for – it was all gone!

And all he could do was take in a deep breath and hold it, as he heard two sets of footsteps finally descended the stairs.

But as the two women came into view, he saw that the Grand Duchess...had no cases with her...?

That was a confusion soon explained away, when he saw that Marie, with tears of joy in her eyes, was smiling brighter than he’d seen in so many years...

“We have found her!” she cried out, sounding like she wanted to announce it to the whole world, not just him. “We have found our Grand Duchess!”

Maxwell let his hand fall away from his face immediately, and it was only his sense of propriety that stopped him from crying out in happiness.

She’d done it! Marie had talked it through with her, just like he and Niles had pleaded with her to do!

And his delight only grew as they joined him on the ground floor, Marie leaving Claire - Chastity Claire, really – a few paces behind so that she could come and talk to him.

“We will be requiring the set up off a press conference,” she told him with a grin. “And a ball, in a week’s time, at my house! And I would like my most trusted advisor and employee, who has far better sense and judgement than I do, to oversee the preparation for both.”

Maxwell nearly laughed then, almost overwhelmed by the joy – she wasn’t going to take his job away! He was being let off, and being given important assignments in order to make up for it!

He knew it was Marie’s way of apologising, and he wasn’t going to let her down – a press conference to announce the finding of the Grand Duchess required a great deal of fine planning all by itself, and the ball would probably require twice as much as that!

She’d need someone to get started right away!

“It will be an honour and privilege, Your Majesty,” Maxwell said, bowing to the Empress, finally allowing himself to smile again. “I shall start the preparations at this very moment, Madam.”

“Wonderful! Now, given the recent developments, would it be too much to ask if–”

“Press conference?” interrupted the Grand Duchess, coming closer to her grandmother and Maxwell,

“Of course, Your Imperial Highness,” Maxwell replied, turning his smile towards the Grand Duchess, “We must announce your safe return to the entire world! You have become the stuff of legends, Your Imperial Highness, and there are plenty of people who would like to know that the Grand Duchess Chastity-Claire Romanov has returned home!”

“Oh,” C.C. said quietly, casting her eyes downwards. She wasn’t sure she was ready to do what was being asked of her – she’d never spoken in public before, let alone to the press! She had little idea what to say or how to answer to the deluge of questions that would surely be fired her way the moment she stood before the cameras. The prospect of what was to come was making her feel uncertain and more than a little bit anxious, even if she knew her grandmother would come to her aid should she need her to do so.

Marie picked up on her unease, so she carefully wrapped an arm around her girl and kissed her temple.

“It will be okay, child,” said the Dowager Empress, “You will do wonderfully!”

C.C. shrugged, “It’s just… I’ve never spoken in public. Not that I remember, at least. And I… well… I can’t recall any previous balls!”

Her grandmother shook her head softly again, and smiled, “There is no need to panic about the ball – I will introduce you to everyone there, and you will never be left alone with people you are unfamiliar with!”

“That is exactly right, Your Imperial Highness,” Maxwell agreed. “And the press at the conference will have their orders to keep questions light and brief; there will be no interrogations, and nothing too difficult or frightening to answer. And if you reach a point where you have had enough, you have every right to say so.”

Claire looked at them both, hope and curiosity dancing in her eyes. She’d never had the power to tell command a single person, let alone an entire room, before!

“I do?”

Marie kissed her temple again, “You absolutely do, my dearest one! So please, don’t let it worry you so...!”

Claire nodded, the kind words making her feel better already. More relaxed. They were right – she wasn’t going to be left by herself, so early on! She hadn’t even begun yet, and still needed to learn how to speak to a journalist, or to a noble or a socialite...

It was lucky that her grandmother was there to show her the way.

And getting to stop the questions whenever she wanted...well, she supposed that was a perk of being the Grand Duchess!

But in that moment, the relaxation of the worry leaving tapped into the events and emotions of the day, which then immediately registered and caught up to her. The exhaustion seeped into her body, and she was forced to stifle a yawn.

Marie noticed, chuckled, and rubbed her granddaughter’s back. It was about time they got going – it was understandable that Chastity-Claire was getting tired (it was small wonder she hadn’t collapsed, from her journey!), and there was an untouched bedroom back in her house that had been waiting for its occupant for several years, now...

“There certainly seem to be more pressing matters,” she smiled, turning to Maxwell. “I think it is about time that my granddaughter and myself returned to my house.”

She then turned her eyes to Claire, and the younger woman felt a warmth unlike any she’d ever experienced in her smile.

“It’s about time that my granddaughter, Her Imperial Highness, got settled into her new home.”

 _Home_. The word was (in a way) still so foreign, to Claire.

But the way her grandmother said it made her think that it would soon become her favourite word in the world, and that eventually she wouldn’t know how she ever lived without it.

Maxwell beamed at them both, and gave another bow, “That sounds more than acceptable, Your Imperial Majesty. I’ll take you there myself.”

“Thank you,” Marie said to him, before turning to Claire again. “Well, my dear - I think that we should go and finish packing your case. We’ll want your belongings safe on the way to our home...”

Claire nodded excitedly and smiled. The thought of getting to the place she’d be living from then-on was overtaking her mind, and she didn’t want to stand there anymore than Marie did, if it meant they could be on their way.

She allowed her grandmother to take her arm again as they made their way back up the stairs, talking quietly and laughing as they went.

Pleased, Maxwell watched them go, stopping only to order two of his footmen to follow the women and carry any cases or belongings that Her Imperial Highness had brought with her.

It would’ve been unbecoming of either of the women to carry the cases themselves! They were royalty, and as such they were granted all the privileges of their status, as far as he was concerned.

He’d been loyal to the Romanovs his whole life, and he wasn’t intending on stopping.

That was why he was about to carry out part of his given tasks, by starting to arrange the press conference. Once the word got out about Her Imperial Highness’ reappearance, he was sure he was going to be busy, so he supposed he might as well start right away.

He turned, and walked towards his office, already thinking of where he kept the numbers for all the major newspapers.

 


	16. Chapter 16

**_ Chapter 15 _ **

**__ **

**_Ritz Hotel_ **

**_1st arrondissement_ **

**_Paris, France_ **

**_July 18 th 1923_ **

 

Niles didn’t know why he bothered listening to the growling in his stomach, telling him to get up. He’d rather have lain there and starved, but his body just wouldn’t let him. He had to force himself to sit upright, and ran a hand through his hair before wiping it down his face.

It was probably the worst night’s sleep he’d ever had. He’d tossed and turned, images of Claire flashing in his mind. In some of them, she was pleased to see him – all smiles and soft caresses as he held her in his arms, and in others she pushed him away, eyes turning on him in scorn before slapped him across the face again and walked out of his life for good...

He didn’t know which image was worse – the one closer to reality, or the one that might have been, if he hadn’t been such a stupid, undeserving pile of...nothing!

She at least had a chance at being happy. That was the only consoling thought. He knew that if he had managed to convince the Dowager Empress to speak to her, everything would have been revealed from there.

 

He might have wished to disappear, but it working out would mean that she would get the life that she deserved.

Wealth and luxury. Fine food and warm clothes.

A happy marriage, and beautiful children...

Or, his awful, awful brain reminded him, there was always the possibility that his words hadn’t been enough. That all her attempts at explanation, and then all her pleas for just one chance to prove herself, had fallen on deaf ears, and the Dowager Empress had seen fit to kick her out of the house anyway.

She could be wandering the streets even now, nowhere to go but back to Russia, to go back to the bakery she’d said she’d worked at before.

She was either a Grand Duchess with a family and a bright future right at that moment, or she was still an abandoned girl with nothing.

Nothing, but crushed hopes and dreams that he’d personally set up for her.

Either thought made him want to sink back into the bed again, overcome by the depression and the guilt, and perhaps then he’d bury his face into the pillow until he suffocated.

But he couldn’t. His traitorous stomach told him that he still had to exist.

No matter how much he didn’t want to.

He wasn't planning on going back to Russia (he'd be killed for having left the country without permission), but London waited instead.

After he’d stayed a few more days at the Ritz, that was. He thought he might as well use up the last of the money they’d stolen from the train before he went anywhere, and that money had been added to when he’d spoken to Fran, after Claire had sent him (deservedly) packing.

His friend had tried so hard to convince him to stay, but he’d refused. He couldn’t face the hurt and humiliation right there, in the city where everything had fallen apart - he had to go away.

When Fran had eventually realised just how serious and determined he was, she’d insisted on giving him a “little extra” to get by, which he’d also tried to refuse. He didn’t need the money, and he’d nearly gotten Fran killed on the journey, so if anything, he owed her.

But she hadn’t been having any of that, saying that friends don’t owe friends that way. She’d then shoved the money in his jacket pocket, and had refused to leave until he’d put it away.

So, he’d ended up with the money. And he had already used some of it on his train ticket to the port of Calais, but most of the rest was going to be gone before then, spent on a few nights of indulgence at the Ritz and on actually getting to London from Dover.

He’d been to London once before, when he was little and his bastard of a father still hadn’t gambled the family fortune away. He remembered his mother had been at her happiest there, getting lost at Harrods and attending balls organised by her high-born British friends…

Since he had nothing and no one left, he might as well go back to a source of good memories.

London was, in some way, the next best thing to home.

He needed to reinvent himself – start anew. He'd hurt the only woman he'd ever loved and probably ruined her chances at finding a family, he had no good reason to continue the life he’s been leading up to then. He didn't deserve forgiveness, either.

He deserved to pay for what he'd done.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Niles forced himself out of bed and went through the usual motions: he washed his face, brushed his teeth, combed his hair, put on a suit and a bit of cologne here and there. To the unknowing eye he looked just like any other gentleman.

Niles looked at his reflection one last time – a _gentleman_... that was a laugh!

He was no gentleman. He’d scraped a living out of hurting people, and conning them, and acting like he had their best interests at heart when he’d really only been thinking of what he could get out of them.

How very much like his father he’d become…!

His mother was probably turning in her grave.

Even though he loved Claire with all his heart he knew it wasn’t enough to make up for what he’d done. He had to leave – that was all he could do to repair it now.

He turned away from the mirror before he succumbed to the temptation to punch his reflection.

He left his room and headed down to breakfast. The hotel had an excellent good selection of breakfast items, he thought. Though he’d have to steel himself at the breads, cakes and pastries. Each and every single one would remind him of his baker girl who was also a princess.

He went downstairs to the lobby, which was amazingly crowded with guests – they were all buzzing around the stand where the boy dropped the newspapers in the morning.

And they were all buzzing about the same thing.

“They’ve found her!” cried an older man with a heavy German accent, holding that day’s newspaper in his hands. “They’ve found the Russian Grand Duchess!”

The words struck him like the blow Claire had sent across his face.

He’d done it. He had really and truly convinced the Dowager Empress that Claire was telling the truth! She’d been convinced enough to go talk to Claire for herself!

It had all worked out, like he’d hypothesised it might. They’d found each other. Marie had taken her granddaughter back in, and they were going to be the family that Claire had always wanted!

He got a moment’s satisfaction from knowing that they’d all been right all along, and from knowing that Claire would be happy in her new life. But then the sadness returned, reminding him that he’d never see that new life, nor ever be a part of it.

He’d forfeited that right by lying to her. Someone else would come along instead - someone worthy of a Grand Duchess, and of a woman as good as she was - and they’d never lie to her.

And then, that would be that. As simple a story conclusion as their own had been, although with a far happier ending.

And of course, if it weren’t all enough, the universe had to rub it in for him by making the other people in the lobby talk about it all, so loudly between them...

He knew that the story, with all of the excitement and the danger, would have attracted a crowd even if it weren’t about someone who inspired so much intrigue. But he had no patience to be hearing about how much other people were enjoying it - not when he’d lived it, and for all the excitement and the danger, all he cared about was the romance that had failed along the way.

The romance that he’d destroyed singlehandedly, by not being honest with the one person who deserved it the most...

He put his head down, and hurried up his footsteps to get across the room, to get to the hotel restaurant. He’d peered through the doors and it looked quieter in there...

He could use the space to get away from all the muttering gossipers, and their loud German friend, who was still announcing the news to anybody who would listen.

Not that Niles wanted to listen. He wanted to not have to hear about the newly found Grand Duchess, or anything that would happen in her life now that he was out of it.

Most of all (and completely impossibly), he wanted Claire to be there with him, beaming and clutching his hand as they went to breakfast together...

It was...almost funny, really, the things the universe dictated a person could and couldn’t have. What he wanted was the thing he could never get, and the last thing he wanted was what he was stuck with...

But such was his lot in life, and he had no choice but to accept it.

Even if it broke his hear in a million pieces.

Guilt was a familiar burden to the disgraced prince – he’d lived for years thinking he hadn’t saved his beloved, spending each day damning fate and damning his own lack of strength and ability for the Grand Duchess’ apparent demise. He’d gotten used to hating the man he saw in the mirror, and his increasingly crooked life had been a reflection of this.

As it had turned out, he had actually saved the Grand Duchess, but somehow (and in a rather nasty twist of fate) he’d managed to screw everything up all over again. He’d almost cost his beloved her happiness and her identity, and the crushing guilt was just as bad (if not worse) as the one he’d felt when he’d thought she’d died at the hands of the revolutionaries.

So, just like he’d done last time, he’d get used to it. He’d get used to living with the heartache – the numbing pain that would never stop coming, like a tidal wave, or a monsoon flood. It would ebb from time to time, giving him respite for the briefest of instants, but then it would come again with renewed force, knocking him off his feet, and sending him tumbling into the angry sea of his own regrets.

Again, this was his own undoing – if he hadn’t been such a bastard then he’d still be with Claire, if not as a lover, then as a loyal servant and aide. If he’d heeded his mother’s advice, if he’d been true to the way she’d raised him, he wouldn’t be in this situation. She’d washed for him to be a good man; a gentleman…

Now, he wasn’t sure who he’d see in the mirror next time he looked in it – himself, or his father.

The thought hurt, but it was true. He was becoming the thing that he despised the very most, and he had cost himself everything by not realising it sooner!

And, seeing as there were no prison cells around that he could just go and throw himself into, the next best thing he could think to do for the time being was to confine himself to a corner of the hotel restaurant.

It wasn’t anywhere near the punishment he deserved, but it would do so that he could have something to eat without having to listen to the crowds still chattering outside in the lobby. It also meant less of a chance of having to engage in unwanted conversation with any of the other guests who were eating, either. He couldn’t bring himself to it, and he wouldn’t be able to stand it if they got onto the topic of Claire, either.

So, he sat there (having managed to only converse with the waiter enough to order something), mournfully chewing on a slice of toast and sipping at a cup of tea, feeling like he could swallow neither and having to force himself to do both.

And, all the while, he tried and failed to not imagine how Claire’s day would’ve started.

She would’ve been woken by a maid, most likely, and either served breakfast in her room or been told that when she was dressed, it would be waiting for her downstairs. Then, she would have gone downstairs to see her grandmother, who’d be helping her to start planning where her life would pick up...

Her life really was only going to pick up from there. It would soon grow from the fledgling that it currently was (the more she found that she liked the new things she was being shown and the new social circles she was mixing with), until it was soaring like an eagle, higher than anything else in the sky...

And he’d be still there, stuck on the ground, only able to watch her from afar - if he could see her at all, that was.

He swallowed another bland mouthful of toast, and was just about to wash it down with another gulp of tea...

When he noticed that he wasn’t alone at the table.

There was a man in a fine suit, stood right by his side, waiting with his hands behind his back expectantly.

Niles blinked up at the man in no small amount of confusion. How this stranger had gravitated over into his circle of misery, he wasn’t sure - the man should probably have summarised from the fact that he was by himself in the corner of the room that he wanted to be alone.

Though from what he said next, and how he said it, it made Niles think that he didn’t care if he wanted to be by himself or not.

“Are you His Grace, Prince Niles Brightmorov?”

The use of his full, disgraced title made him flinch. The shameful words had made his mind immediately go back to thinking about his father again, and his hand involuntarily gripped his teacup tighter.

But he had to admit that that was still him, no matter how much he wanted to say that no, that wasn’t him, and anybody looking for someone by that name should try somewhere else.

“Yes?” he asked irritably. “Is there some way that I can help you?”

He doubted very much that he could help anybody, at this stage. He hadn’t helped before now, and realising just how worthless he was as a person had made it impossible for him to think that he could help anybody in the future, too.

But the bitter tone of his voice and the miserable look he was giving him did nothing to deter the man.

“I am an envoy for Her Imperial Majesty, the Dowager Empress Marie Feodorovna Romanova,” the man explained. “She has requested that I find you, and bring you to an audience with her.”

That made Niles, who had been varying between slouching over and slumping back in his seat, immediately snapped straight upright.

He...wasn’t sure he’d heard the man correctly...

“I’m sorry?”

The man looked like he wanted to sigh, but professionalism meant he couldn’t.

“I am an envoy for Her Imperial Majesty, Your Grace. She has requested a meeting with you, and I am to bring you to her.”

Niles’ eyes widened a little. So, he had heard him right! The Dowager Empress wanted to see...him!

But why?! He’d left with everything he’d started out with (minus one love of his life), so it couldn’t have been an accusation of stealing.

It had to be something else - but what?

He’d imagined that, much like Claire, Marie would’ve wanted to forget that he’d ever darkened their doorstep in the first place! This was not the steps one took when they were trying to push a person out - especially a person who didn’t deserve the forgiveness it would probably take to even let them back in the same house again!

He had to find out what she wanted.

He released his almost-death-grip on the cup, and swallowed again before asking his final two questions.

“The...Empress wants to see me? Why?”

The envoy’s mouth formed a line. He clearly didn’t like being asked all of these questions, even if he had no choice but to answer.

“Her Imperial Majesty has requested that I bring you to her, so that she might discuss the notion of presenting you with your reward. For returning Her Imperial Highness, the Grand Duchess Chastity Claire, to her.”

Niles felt his insides tighten to the point where he thought they might witness a reappearance of his tea and toast. His immediate thought after that was to say no and refuse to go with the envoy.

He didn’t want that money. He didn’t deserve it. After all of the things he’d done in his time as a criminal, and after all the people he’d hurt, he’d finally understood. It had opened his eyes to the fact that he’d ruined it all by himself.

And the one con job that would have put him on the path to being set for life was the one that made him realise that none of it was worth it.

Not when it meant giving up Claire.

He couldn’t believe there had once been a point in his life where nothing he’d just thought would’ve mattered (that same young, arrogant bastard would’ve probably been trying to lift the envoy’s wallet, even as they spoke). But it mattered more than anything now, and it was greater than any greed for any amount of money could ever be.

And, even if he felt like turning away and telling the envoy to go back to his mistress without him, there was also part of him that wanted the (angry) satisfaction of telling the Dowager Empress all of this in person.

Show her that he was nothing like his father anymore, even if his actions had initially been as misguided as they could be. He knew doing so would not change his standing with Claire, but it would allow him to at least redeem himself in the eyes of the Empress. Maybe not completely, but enough for him to clear his name a little.

Yes, he’d messed up, but he was done with being a conman. He was done with cheating people out of their money, and to symbolise it, he was about to reject his ticket to an easy life of indulgence and luxuries. He’d turn his back on his only chance at returning to polite society, regardless of what became of him in the years to come.

He’d survive. When it came right down to it, he was confident in his ability to get by. He’d take any job, no matter how low-paying or how gruelling, and he would eventually come up with a side hustle or two to complement his income.

If he’d survived communist Russia, he was certain he’d make it anywhere.

Knowing he’d stayed silent for far too long, Niles folded his napkin, lowered it on the table and cleared his throat, “Very well, then. At what time shall I make myself present at Her Majesty’s abode?”

“Five o’ clock sharp, Your Grace,” said the envoy, “Her Majesty will be expecting you for tea.”

Tea with an Empress; now, wasn’t that prestigious? If only his bastard of a father could see him as he currently was, Niles thought sardonically to himself. He’d probably be proud of the number of people his son had conned, swindled, and generally hurt through his own selfish actions.

And if nothing that had happened before hadn’t been enough of a reason for him to want to change his ways, that particularly scary thought would have done the trick. The last thing he wanted on Earth was his father’s approval.

Well, second-to-last. But the very last thing had already happened, when he’d looked into Claire’s eyes and saw just how much she hated him for lying to her.

He knew she’d have had some etiquette lessons involving a tea such as this one, since living with her grandmother. It would be one of her first experiences of an aspect of high society, and an important lesson in how one conducted themselves in front of guests.

If she remembered, it might at least mean she’d probably hold herself back from screaming at him if he ever accidentally saw her again, but the thought of a stony silence between them felt just as bad. Especially if it was to be accompanied by the same hurt look of anger she’d given him before...

An involuntary image of her beaming happily again, but turning it all on an adoring, handsome and well-dressed stranger, briefly invaded his mind.

Of course, she’d never look at him like that. Not that that meant his mind had to play cruel tricks by reminding him that she’d find someone and move on, whilst he’d be stuck with no one.

Not that that even mattered, currently. He doubted that the Grand Duchess would even be at the tea - she had no doubt known of the invitation before he had, and as such she would’ve removed herself so that she didn’t have to see him.

He was purely going to say his piece to the Dowager Empress, and then he would leave. That was that, and he might not even touch the tea.

“Very well,” he eventually nodded. “Tell Her Imperial Majesty that I will be there.”

The envoy gave a slight bow, “Very good, sir. We shall expect you at that time. In your finest day suit, of course.”

That was the last thing the man said, before turning away from the table and walking out of the restaurant. In his wake, he left Niles with the miserable but determined resignation that one would associate with having a tooth pulled, or some other unpleasant activity, as well as the vague sense that he’d just been insulted.

It really made a difference, hearing one when it wasn’t Claire who was saying it...

But he had to shrug it off. The man was gone, and it wasn’t as though it would have done Niles any favours if he’d managed to start a fight, simply over the state of his clothes.

He did think the man had a point about turning up looking his best, though, even if the servant had been a sneering prig on other occasions.

He would have to look through his wardrobe and case. There had to be something in there which would do (or, at least, go a long way to convince people he held a better job than former conman), seeing as even breathing was expensive in Paris, let alone new clothes, and he didn’t fancy his chances at coming away with anything.

This was, as so much of his life seemed to be currently, the next best thing he could manage to achieve. And even if some of it could’ve been far better (he’d much rather have the afternoon tea with Marie turn miraculously into a romantic dinner with Claire, for instance), he had to take whatever he could get.

And if he still had nothing in his case after he’d spent so long searching, then he would bite the bullet and go searching the stores.

He’d have no other choice.

Finishing up with his toast and coffee and leaving some money on the table, he rose from his seat and headed back on through the room, out into the lobby.

The gossipers had mostly dispersed by this stage, one or two hanging around to chatter about it with anyone who would listen.

Not that Niles was listening, as he marched straight towards the stairs. The only acknowledgment he gave them was the thought of how ironic it was, that he had the whole story and more gossip than they could ever imagine...

But he also had a suit to find, and a tea to prepare for.

And the outcome of the latter was far more important than words could say.

 

* * *

 

Niles looked himself over in the mirror once more. He’d picked out his best suit, thankful that it wasn’t frayed at the sleeves or trouser legs, and this last check was the only thing preventing him from leaving his room and heading off towards the house.

He wanted to look the very model of presentable, and that required time and precision.

He’d pinned a small flower to his lapel for good measure, wanting to be meticulous about his appearance. He didn’t hold out hope to see the princess again, but should that happen, he wanted to look presentable for her. That was, if he didn’t throw himself at her feet first, ruining any chance of keeping his suit neat.

Then, he poured a small amount of hair tonic on his sand-blond hair, combed and styled it, making sure that there wasn’t a hair out of place. Lastly, he applied some cologne (a gift from Fran).

He looked quite presentable, he thought.

He could only live in hope that it would be enough for an afternoon in the presence of royalty.

After checking his wrist watch (a trinket won in a recent gamble against a drunk Soviet soldier), Niles left his hotel room and set for Marie’s home. He had to take a cab there, for he was running exactly on time.

He hoped that would be appreciated, but more than a large part of his mind doubted it. If anything at all, it was more likely to just be expected, and therefore earn him nothing.

Though why he’d thought that it might earn him points in his favour in the first place, he didn’t know. It would take a lot more than simply being punctual to make up for everything that he’d done. He’d probably been grasping at anything and everything that he could, in order to make himself feel better about the meeting, and about whatever opinion the Dowager Empress might have of him.

But it didn’t take long for him to shake that thought out of his head. He knew exactly what Marie thought of him - it was the same way he’d feel about somebody who hurt Claire.

It was the same way he thought about himself, for that exact reason...

And that was the thought he was left on, as the cab rolled to a halt outside the Dowager Empress’ home.

He was so caught up in looking at the windows, wondering - hoping - that he might spot Claire watching from one of them (waiting for him, perhaps?), that he almost forgot to pay the driver. When he remembered he still had to, he handed the man a small wad of notes, not caring how much the ride had actually been worth, and exited the vehicle before he could get any change back.

He didn’t care. The cab driver could have it all, as far as he was concerned.

All that mattered to him was getting up the pathway and ringing the doorbell.

When he did so, a young man dressed to the nines opened the door and invited him in, asking him (and using his full style and title while he did so, at that) if he could take his coat. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had done that for him. Usually, he was looked down by other servants, almost as if there was an invisible mark – a brand, of sorts, that announced to the whole wide world that he was a penniless, down-on-his-luck crook.

Not that they were wrong. He was a bastard, no doubt. It was just nice to occasionally be treated with a little bit more (undeserved) dignity.

At any rate, he refused the butler’s offer. He was not going to be long, so there was no point in getting comfortable. He would just say his piece and take his leave, empty-handed but, hopefully, redeemed.

“Very well, sir,” said the butler, “If you will follow me?”

The servant didn’t wait for his reply before turning on his heel and hurrying off towards the tea room, where he was sure Marie awaited. Niles followed in complete silence, eyes cast to the floor and heart hammering again in his chest. Would Claire be there too? Would she hear what he had to say?

He couldn’t help but hope that she’d be there, even if only to glare at him, but reality soon proved that he was so unimportant (or, perhaps, that he was so loathed) to the Grand Duchess that she wasn’t there to even spew her hatred at him.

No, the only person (apart from a number of servants) in the room, was the Dowager Empress, sat ramrod straight and face set in a stern frown.

Of course, she’d had so much experience in meeting and dealing with con artist types that she didn’t even need to say a single word, before Niles could tell that she was spewing hatred at him. Claire would probably still need some words (even if it wouldn’t take her very long), but her grandmother could say it all in one look.

And part of Niles was already regretting his decision to come. Perhaps he should have been a bit firmer, with the envoy? Done more to make him understand that he wanted absolutely nothing to do with any reward that had been offered, even if he had technically done what was asked?

No. The rest of him steeled itself, and his conscience told him to be brave. He had to say his piece - he would be more of a coward if he hadn’t turned up.

He would have been just like his father. And Niles didn’t want to start (and end, given that he knew he’d never have children at this point) a family tradition of running away.

He took in a breath that he hoped no one heard and stepped forward, letting Marie acknowledge him before he attempted to say anything.

“Good day to you, Your Grace.”

Her voice sounded like she was doing anything apart from greeting him, although she was doing her best to keep a civilised form of speaking at the same time.

He gave a low bow in return to the Dowager Empress, leaving the subject of her tone well enough alone, “Your Imperial Majesty. Thank you for summoning me; I hope I haven’t put you out of your way by doing so...”

He wanted to kick himself for adding anything after “Majesty”, if he was honest. What if she mistook his thanks as cocky, premature thanks for summoning him in order to claim the reward?

He didn’t want to give her even more of an awful impression of him than she already had! And it would remain an awful impression - even if he had been openly and utterly devastated when everything had fallen apart with Claire, she could probably easily see that as having all been an act.

She probably saw him as nothing but a manipulative creep.

She was certainly icy enough for that to be true, when she addressed him again.

“I had already planned to schedule time for whomever brought my granddaughter back to me.”

Every word and the tone behind it all made him want to sink into the floor. There was no acknowledgement of his apology whatsoever, and she had essentially just told him that he hadn’t even really been important enough to make time for. This had been a cleared part of her diary, open for anybody to come into as long as they’d brought Claire home.

He’d just happened to be that person. And he wasn’t even granted the slight respect of being called “sir” at the end of her explanation.

“Now,” Marie continued, not appearing to be smile at any point there, “If you will sit down we can get this over and done with as fast as humanly possible.”

Niles immediately obeyed, feeling his cheeks burning with shame – well-deserved shame, but shame nonetheless. Clearly, he was still not out of the woods, and this show of civility from the Empress came not from a place of gratitude, but rather from the Empress’ sense of decorum and a strict education to abide by protocol. There was no sense in fooling himself, Marie detested him, but her own sense of duty had compelled to be true to her word, and that was to reward the person that brought the Grand Duchess home.

So Niles went, and sat at the table that had been set out for two as servants marched into the room, all carrying trays with food and drinks. Everything looked delicious, and had it been any other occasion Niles would have probably helped himself, but today he was determined not to take anything from the Empress. Not even a cup of tea.

He owed them that much.

“So,” the Empress spoke matter-of-factly, “You understand why I have invited you here today, Your Highness?”

“I do, Your Majesty,” replied Niles, nodding. “As your envoy said, I believe you wanted to discuss the matter of the reward offered for having brought Her Imperial Highness back home.”

“Indeed,” said the Empress as she poured herself a cup of fine British Earl Grey. She then added a splash of milk and two spoonfuls of sugar to her teacup and stirred it with care. When she was satisfied, she tapped her spoon against the rim of the cup twice before delicately laying it down on the saucer.

All the while, she continued to look at him almost... disapprovingly?

It reminded him of C.C.’s own look of disapproval that she’d given him on more than once occasion. Even if nothing else had proved that the two were related, if you got them both scowling, you’d see it straight away.

“Now, Prince Brightmorovich,” said the Empress sternly, “I know I initially promised ten million rubles as a reward, but since the value of our currency has plummeted since then, I will give you the equivalent of ten million rubles in US dollars. I hope that is not an issue.”

Ten million rubles...the mathematician in him told him that the US equivalent had to be in the range of one million dollars...

The conman Niles would have immediately replied to Marie that no, that was absolutely not an issue (in between trying not to choke or hyperventilate). In fact, he’d have had a bag prepared for the money to be delivered in, and he’d be asking if it was coming in large or small bills.

But he stopped himself from even thinking of it. He wasn’t that Niles anymore. Conman Niles was a bastard, and he was never coming back.

And Niles was about to make the biggest decision of his life. A lot of people might’ve said that it was the stupid decision, but he knew that it was the right one.

Whether or not something was stupid didn’t matter, when you loved a person and you wanted to show them how sorry you were.

So, he pursed his lips, looked the Dowager Empress squarely in the eye, and told her exactly what he’d come to say.

“I am sorry, Your Majesty, but I cannot accept that offer.”

Marie felt a surge of anger go through her blood. This...man in front of her, was obviously trying to persuade her to hand over more money! After she had overlooked what had gone on before to offer him his reward, like anybody else, and had invited him into her own home to do so!

She should have known better; a conman was as a conman did, and it was clear that Joseph Brightmorovich and the whole lot of his brood had been nothing but liars and thieves!

She was about to loudly declare her lack of surprise and tell him how he and his ilk had obviously earned their sullied reputation, when the disgraced Prince spoke again.

“I cannot take money from you. Especially when I know that I have done nothing to deserve it,” he...explained? Whilst hanging his head? “I have been nothing but a petty crook and a conman, and even if I did find your granddaughter, I did not do it for the right reasons. I...would only continue to be a dishonest boor of a man, if I accepted your more than generous offer, knowing that I had only been doing it for me, not for you, or your granddaughter...”

Marie’s eyebrows raised as she fell back slightly in her seat. Her tea went untouched, as did her cakes, and for a moment, the only noise in the whole house seemed to be the grandfather clock tick-tocking in the hallway.

She was...astounded...by the little speech that he’d just given her...!

She really couldn’t...was he really refusing the reward? No man in his right mind would’ve refused that offer! After all the tricks and schemes he’d used to get himself in that position, was he really refusing to jump at the final hurdle?

The hurdle which - most would’ve agreed - was the simplest one to clear?

But why? What on Earth could’ve made him change his mind about that?

Marie eyed him suspiciously, “And you cannot accept this reward for what reason, exactly...?”

Niles looked between them again, and took in a deep breath. It didn’t settle the ache in his chest, but it did prepare him for what he wanted to say.

“Because I don’t deserve it,” he said. “I wasn’t doing it for the right reasons to begin with. I was wrong. But I…had a change of heart.”

The revelation sent shock waves rippling outwards, and although the eldest Romanov tried her best not to show it, her faces gave away that they couldn’t believe her ears. She couldn’t believe what had become painfully obvious, judging by his words and his demeanour.

He was in love with his grandchild.

Head over heels, if he was willing to refuse a million dollars.

But, at the same time, when she really thought about it, it made incredible sense. As he’d seen fit to remind her the night before in the midst of their argument regarding Marie agreeing to hear C.C. out or not, he’d been the boy who had led them to safety. He was the same boy who had gazed at her grandchild in absolute awe during the ball, while handing her the music box and the pendant she’d had commissioned for C.C.

This man – this young disgraced prince, was in love with C.C.. Had been in love with her since she was young teen.

And this was the ultimate sacrifice.

“Are you sure, Your Grace?” said the Empress, wanting to test him one more time, “An opportunity like this happens once in a lifetime.”

Niles smiled sadly at the Empress. The reward he desired couldn’t happen – not in his lifetime.

“With all due respect, madam,” said the prince, folding his napkin and placing it on the table – he might not have outstayed his welcome, but he simply couldn’t stand being there for one more minute. He couldn’t take the humiliation anymore. He had to retreat while he still could. Cut his losses and retire to lick his wounds and move on.

If that was even possible.

“The reward I desire cannot be given to me, nor am I worthy of it,” he said, getting to his feet, “I have been made a better man by Her Imperial Highness, and that alone is reward enough for the likes of me.”

She was going to be happy, he told himself. She was home, she had a full, rich life ahead of her, and an equally rich suitor-soon-to-be-husband would follow. She’d have the perfect life, and he’d have caused it all.

But there was one last thing he wanted to say, even if he knew Claire would never hear it.

“I can go from this place knowing that my life was made more worth living, because she has been in it.”

Marie thought she might crumble then, even if she was rising from the table. She didn’t remember the last time she’d ever listened to something so heartfelt!

So...heartbroken! It was as though everything he ever wanted had been taken away from him, and her offer of money was a cheap substitute that could never replace what he had lost!

There was only one emotion in the world - one force - that could make him act that way.

“You...are in love with my granddaughter,” she stated.

There was no room for questioning, after what he’d just told her. And the boy didn’t deny it.

He couldn’t deny it.

“You are indeed a lucky woman, to get to have such a marvellous granddaughter. She is nothing but a joy. And I...I was a fool,” he said with a sad smile, looking very much like it was mere decorum keeping him from crying then.

There was only one thing that Marie could say to that, with her heart screaming out just how wrong she’d been before.

“You are nothing like your father, Your Grace...”

The boy looked like that meant more to him than anything else she could possibly have said. He was closer than ever to tears, and the sad smile he was wearing was also wavering...

“Thank you, Your Imperial Majesty. But I must not darken your doorstep any longer. Thank you also for the honour of your invitation, and farewell.”

With that, he bowed once more and left the room at a hurried pace. Soon after that, Marie thought she heard the front door open and close.

Prince Niles had left. It seemed like his tears might’ve been catching up on him...

They were certainly catching up on Marie. She never thought she’d feel such a...an endearing, sympathetic warmth in her chest again!

Especially not for little more than a servant-turned-criminal! The kind of man she’d never want to be anywhere near her granddaughter; the kind who had hurt her granddaughter beyond all belief!

The kind who had...broken her Chastity Claire’s heart, too?

Marie thought it over in her head. She’d seen the way her girl had looked at him, before the truth had been revealed, and she could only look at him in utter hatred and betrayal...

She’d looked at him like he was the moon, and every star in the sky that went with it. Like he was the answer to every question that she’d ever had - not the people he’d brought her to Paris to see, but him! And her eyes had flashed with so much pain, when it had all apparently come to nothing...

Marie felt the need to sit down again, before she fell down!

How had she not entertained the possibility that all of this was crushing her girl because she’d been in love with Prince Niles?! Surely it should have been obvious, to one with as many experiences as her!

The very thought was making her head swim, but she knew that it was true. Her girl would not be so miserable over a man she did not think worthy of her time, and it wouldn’t have lasted so long if the wound wasn’t deep.

And she had never seen a man give up that kind of money for a woman before! Not the kind of money that would make him rich for life, at any rate...

The two of them had clearly fallen for one another, and yet...

And yet a lie had torn them apart again.

And Marie had no clue how to fix any of it. All she had was what she could relay to C.C., and hope that her girl took something from that.

She might be able to contact Niles, if she did. They might not have had any address or details to reach him by, but they still had the press conference to come, and if she wanted, she could use it to send out her own message to him...

That was, if she still wanted to. Marie wouldn’t force her.

She would just sit and watch, much like she was doing (minus the cup of tea and forkful of cake), and allow her granddaughter the room she needed to make the most important decision she might ever make.

And the Dowager Empress smiled to herself, thinking about what great romantic tale might be woven if it all fell into place.


	17. Chapter 17

** Chapter 16 **

**_288 Boulevard Saint-Germain_ **

**_7th arrondissement_ **

**_Paris, France_ **

**_July 18 th 1923_ **

Claire had to force herself to take deep, confidence-building breaths. Any moment from then, they would be announced, the doors to her grandmother’s study would open and she would be faced, for the first time in her life, with a swarm of awaiting journalists, all eager to listen to her story.

In mere minutes, she’d be irrevocably catapulted into a life of prestige, protocol and privilege. She’d let go of the life she’d known up until then, and step into the life that was, by birthright, hers. She wouldn’t have a palace, or a kingdom, but she would have something that was infinitely more precious – her identity.

At long last, she’d claim her name and her story as her own.

She wasn’t sure how she’d feel, the moment she was sat there, before the paparazzi. It would be a lie to say that she wasn’t afraid of what was to come, but it also felt… _right_. She wanted to do this, even if it was scaring her out of her wits. After all, what did she have to lose? The answer to that was nothing. Instead, she had everything to win.

Her grandmother had promised to help (something that gave her peace of mind) and so far she’d been true to her word. She’d started her on protocol lessons, and helped her fill in the gaping holes in her memory by telling her about their life back in Russia.

Clearly, she was taking (and would have to take it) one day at a time, and rely on her family to get through these confusing (if happy) times.

The press that would be in soon probably felt happy, too.

If only she felt completely happy...

It annoyed her to know that she wasn’t, but she could hardly avoid it. Not when images of Niles, and echoes of things that he’d said, invaded her every waking thought.

She could kill the man from wherever he stood! How could he have lied to her so easily?! How could he have humiliated her, and...and crushed her heart, like it didn’t mean _anything_ to him?!

The pain in her chest was unbearable whenever she thought about it (like right then, conveniently enough), but she had to keep that fact to herself. What could she possibly do with it, otherwise? Niles didn’t love her. He’d used her, and run away...

Well, he had returned. But only to speak to her grandmother, who had just entered the room like she was in a hurry. Both women were dressed to the nines for the occasion, and had even had tiaras placed neatly and gracefully upon their heads. Her grandmother had obviously just come from finishing getting ready, and was determined to look her best before the press came in.

She’d been with...that man (if he deserved the title), up until then. Claire had yet to find out any of the conniving little weasel’s tale since she had rightfully kicked him out, and the tea would mark the first time he’d been back to the house since!

That had probably been a mistake, and all. He’d be taking all that money and going to use it to...to impress other young women, that he could then charm and make fall in love with him...

She rose from her seat and folded her arms over her chest as Marie approached, scowling at the knowledge of where she’d been. It was burning her insides, too.

“Did you give him the reward?” she tried to sound disgusted, and found herself getting angry. “Did he ask for more than the full amount? If I know that little rat at all–”

But she was immediately motioned at by her grandmother to come out of it (interrupting her flow) and as she did, she was pulled into a hug.

When Marie eventually let go, she let out a huffed breath, with her eyes shining like she was about to explain something she’d never thought possible with her own two eyes.

“I didn’t pay a penny of it. He...he refused to take the money. He said he didn’t deserve any of it - that he had a change of heart - and...and he asked me to tell you that his life was made better, by you having been in it!”

What?!

That wasn’t like the Niles she’d just discussed before! This new Niles was too...sweet and generous. Like he hadn’t been putting on an act to make her the latest girl or woman on his list...

Like he...like he really did love her. Like he’d meant everything he’d said before, and that she hadn’t just been the latest in a long line of women he’d been out to fool.

It couldn’t be - Niles was a crook and a charlatan, who hurt people and ruined lives! Wasn’t he?

Or was he the man she loved, and who loved her in return...?

A thousand questions fell over themselves in her mind and vying for attention, to speak back to Marie-

But a loud creak and the sound of numerous voices interrupted her train of thought.

Typical. Just as she was about to demand answers to that bombshell her grandmother had dropped, it was exactly the time for her press conference to start!

And there really were a lot of reporters coming through, too! Wave after wave of them were shown in by her grandmother’s attendants, notebooks and pens in hand, followed by men carrying cameras to be set up wherever possible...

And as they looked up at her, some of them apparently couldn’t help but gasp in wonder, and turn to neighbours about “a hoax” and “just rumours”...

So, they’d come expecting a joke, or a fake as well...

Seeing them didn’t take away what she’d been feeling before, but it all added up (from the size of the crowd to being expected to be a fraud all over again) and definitely dampened it.

Made it feel less...pressing, in her stomach area, and replaced it with a heaviness that came with an urge to prove herself to them...

Her grandmother really didn’t seem fazed by any of it (not even her being called fake), and gave her a look like it was about time that they got down to the (exciting) business of introducing her to the world.

Of proving who she was to the world.

It was then that Claire got to see how some protocol, no matter if they were ruling royalty still or not, came into play. It was demonstrated perfectly, when her grandmother turned to acknowledge their gathered crowd, nodding her head a little just before she seated herself behind the desk that had been set up for them.

After a little (unnoticed) nodding and prompting from Marie, Claire made the same motions, and sat down too.

It was only then at the journalists took their seats, and Claire had to hold herself firm and tell herself to snap out of it - she shouldn’t be amazed just because they’d signalled the start of the conference and people had listened!

Though, it was a little bit hard to not be amazed. She’d never been listened to by so many people all at once before, and now...

Now, rooms full of interesting and important people would listen. Would want to hear what she had to say...

But first, the whole world was going to hear what she had to say. Whether they believed her or not.

"Welcome, gentlemen," Marie's voice boomed across the room, commanding the attention of everyone there. "As you are aware, just yesterday my treasured granddaughter, Her Imperial Highness Grand Duchess Chastity-Claire, was brought back to me, having been found alive in Russia. We have called this conference today so that Her Imperial Highness might tell her story to the world."

C.C. swallowed minutely as she acknowledged her grandmother’s words with a courteous smile. This was it. The moment of truth. The moment where she would say, out loud and clear, who she was and what was happened to her.  

Today, she knew, she’d be reclaiming her identity in front of the world. There was no going back.

It was time to open a can of worms.

“Please, as you were instructed before, do raise your hand if you wish to speak. However, you are to do so only when – and if – Her Imperial Highness has directly acknowledged you,” continued her grandmother, speaking in a commanding voice – a voice that clearly stated she would not admit any contradiction to her desires. “So, without further ado, I’ll leave Her Imperial Highness to begin her story.”

Marie then gestured for C.C. to proceed, something she readily did by inspecting the room, now full of journalists, all of them cranking their hand in the air as high as it was humanly possible. The image was, C.C. had to admit, rather comical – it reminded her of how a classroom looked like!

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Claire said in a soft voice as her eyes continued to wander over the heterogeneous crowd sat directly opposite to her, “I am Her Imperial Highness Grand Duchess Chastity-Claire Stewarevna Romanova,” she made a brief pause to point at the quaintest, most innocent-looking journalist in the room – a young woman with chestnut hair and big, gentle brown eyes, “Yes, Miss…?”

“Browne, Your Imperial Highness,” the woman said as she nodded to her respectfully, "Cecilia Browne of The Times. Let me begin by asking Her Imperial Highness – what happened exactly on the night Her Highness was separated from Her Imperial Majesty?"

C.C. looked over at her grandmother, biting back a frown. She knew for a fact the memory was extremely painful for Marie – at first having her granddaughter with her, feeling like they were going to make it because the train was in sight...

And then suddenly, she was gone from her grasp, into the darkness.

She took hold of Marie's hand, reminding her that she was there. She was alive and she wasn't going anywhere. They'd found each other again.

Niles had helped them find each other again.

That thought caused something to stick in her throat before she managed to answer.

"I was ill the night of the ball, so Her Imperial Majesty and I retired early. We were upstairs the moment the Bolsheviks swarmed into the palace, which gave us time to run. My grandmother quickly dressed me in servant’s clothes and stuffed my pockets with jewels. A young serving boy helped us escape through the servants’ corridors…” C.C. looked down, suddenly feeling overwhelmed – since returning to her Grandmother, the missing pieces of that night had finally come back to her. She remembered everything, including having witnessed her family being murdered.

Now, her mind’s desperate fixation on blocking her past made sense.

The memory of her parents and siblings lying on a puddle of their own blood and the memory of their unseeing, dead eyes would haunt her. Forever.

“We witnessed the murder of Their Imperial Majesties the Tsar and the Tsarina of Russia and of my siblings from the safety of the corridor, and only when it was safe did we continue on our way. Before we knew it, we were at the train station, and running for the train. The one Her Imperial Majesty was going to take to come here, to Paris," she said sadly. "But I fell, getting onto the train. I let go of her hand and I hit my head on the platform. When I woke up, I couldn't remember anything."

"Where did you go after that?" asked another voice, before the speaker held up a hand in apology. "Sorry. Sam Weston, New York Post."

C.C. ignored what someone else in her position might have considered rudeness and answered.

"I was found wandering the streets. Because I didn't know who I was, and as such couldn't tell anybody who my parents were, they...sent me to an orphanage."

C.C. remembered the very first night she’d spent at the orphanage. Something had felt awfully wrong – out of place, was more the feeling. For one thing she’d been scared and lonely, trying to make sense of where and who she was. Now that she knew who she was, she realised just how anguishing not having an identity was.

Many a time she’d asked herself if she even existed. After all, what person couldn’t remember where they come from? What kind of person didn’t know their own name?

Little by little, her name had come back – at least a part of it had. Claire. Little, lost Claire.

The only clue she’d had about her identity had been her pendant, which she’d fought tooth and nail to keep.

Memories had come in flashes in the following years. But part of her simply couldn’t bear remembering. That’s probably why she’d subconsciously forced those memories to stay hidden in the back of her mind. The horror was too much.

The pain was too much.

“I was severely mistreated there – I was beaten, starved, locked in cold closets... so much so I... escaped a few months ago,” explained C.C., “I had a locket that my grandmother had gifted me, and it had the inscription “together in Paris”. I knew someone was waiting here. My amnesia was, in a way, an unintentional attempt at not facing the horrors I’d seen the night my family died. But every once in a while, my mind would surrender a memory. The night I escaped, I remembered being at the Winter Palace, so I initially believed that I’d been a servant.”

She paused and watched as the journalists wrote all of this down. She still couldn't quite believe that her story – no matter how tragic, for the most part – was that important or special to anyone but herself.

But she supposed she had to get used to it. This would be part of royal life. She was going to be watched more often than ever before, and scrutinised for her actions. She might have been the surviving princess of an empire which no longer existed, but she still held her title and that carried weight.

And part of that weight was the responsibility to always appear dignified.

So she had to keep the tears to herself. She'd probably let them all out in the privacy of her own room later that night.

None of the reporters had made to ask another question, so she continued.

"But it also meant I knew I had to get to St Petersburg," she said. "If I was going to have any chance or hope at remembering anything. So, with a little help from a baker friend of mine who had looked after me and many of the other orphans who were mistreated at the hands of the orphanage’s matron, I got the means to get to St Petersburg and a job at her cousin’s bakery.”

“What did you find when you got there, Your Imperial Highness?” asked a reporter at the front after the Grand Duchess had pointed at him.

C.C. thought wistfully about the day she returned to the palace. She hadn’t entirely remembered anything from there, but her imagination had become rather vivid. She supposed it was because she had a vague idea of what should go in those places. Something in her had remembered all along.

And she’d found more than she could have possibly imagined, in meeting Niles.

“I, um...” she paused to regain her thoughts, and to figure out how best to phrase what she wanted to say. “I found...an empty palace, with a rather large portrait,” she said. “And a man who said how strikingly similar my appearance was, when put next to the other members of the royal family.”

That had been a lie but it hadn’t been a lie. He might have seen the similarity and used it for his own gain, but he’d turned out to be right.

“And that was enough to convince you to come to Paris?” asked one of the reporters.

C.C.’s smile twitched.

“No, of course not. I was poised to meet the empress, for I originally didn’t desire to do so.”

“How so, Your Imperial Highness?” asked the same reporter.

“Well, I still had no recollection of who I was or where I came from! It seemed a little too far-fetched to think that I could be the missing Grand Duchess!” replied C.C., “But the man who suggested I was the Grand Duchess just so happened to be the young servant boy who had helped us escape the night we were attacked, and he had a hunch.”

There was a murmur among the reporters at that, and more writing on notepads. C.C. didn’t think she’d ever been listened to so intently in all her life!

It was...well, she wasn’t going to say that it was easy, but it was definitely easier than she thought it would be.

That was, until she motioned for the next reporter to ask their question and she realised that they were really only just beginning.

“So, Your Imperial Highness, you travelled with this man, to Paris from St Petersburg, based purely on the fact that he had a “hunch”?”

Claire felt a knot tightening a little bit in her stomach. If she answered this entirely truthfully, she knew she’d be selling Niles out to the entire world - every newspaper and journalist in the world would be out to get hold of him. He’d never have a moment’s peace, and he’d be hounded every time he stepped out the door of...

Of...wherever he was.

So, she decided to keep some things private. She suspected that her grandmother would approve of her choice, too.

“It was...a very strong hunch,” she instead explained. “It was backed up by a friend of his who came with us to Paris, as well. And, as I had no other explanation for who I was, as well as my necklace, I decided to take the chance that they were right.”

She’d just been fortunate that taking a chance had all worked out.

Well, things had mostly worked out. But she couldn’t afford to get lost too deeply in her thoughts - not when there were still plenty of journalists waiting to ask her questions.

She snapped herself back into it, and gestured for another reporter to ask his question.

“Your Imperial Highness, how did you feel on the journey to Paris? What was it like, thinking that you could be on your way to meet your family, essentially for the first time?”

That might’ve been one of the bigger questions that she had been asked so far in that conference! But it was definitely one that she felt able to answer.

They’d worded it in a way that meant she could focus on her family. There wasn’t going to be room for anything else in what she was about to say.

And even if nothing else, it was nice to look back on her journey, and to explain the feeling of travelling as she did.

“It was...exhilarating, to think that!” she claimed to herself. It had be polite and give a good sense of what had gone on. She didn’t want it getting more complicated than it already had to be. “Every step we went along the way, I’d been thinking of how happy I was to get the chance, and I kept wondering about what I thought my family might be like...”

“And did the reunion live up to your expectations?” asked the same journalist.

C.C. couldn’t help smiling – the reunion, albeit certainly full of setbacks and more than a little hilly, had been everything she’d ever dreamed of and more. She had her family back, she had her own _identity_ back, and that was a feeling unlike any other.

Finally knowing who she was and where she belonged to was a happy ending to an otherwise sad story.

Of course that her perfect happy ending would include Niles not having lied to her and him still being there, probably sat somewhere among the reporters and giving her an encouraging smile. A perfect ending would have been him finally telling her how he felt for her, and her doing the same thing for him, too.

A perfect ending would have been her finding her family and them finding one another.

It made her heart ache that she’d never see him again. Because, beneath the anger and the betrayal, there was almost unbearable pain. Not to mention confusion – why had he refused the reward? His motivation for bringing her hear had been the money, so why had he refused his chance to step into a life of luxury?

There seemed to be no logical answer.

Well… no logical answer apart from one – as he’d said to her grandmother, he’d had a change of heart.

And his heart _had_ changed, from doing what everybody could rightfully regard as a horrible thing, to doing the exact right thing, because...

Because…

There was a brief flash in her head to that night on the ferry. The night they’d danced, and for a few minutes it had felt like everything was alright with the world.

Niles had looked at her like she was the only woman in the world, too...

She had to physically stop herself from reacting to it too loudly or openly, even if it was one of the most difficult things she’d had to do.

She didn’t want all the reporters in the room sharing in on the moment she realised it was all true. Everything she’d hoped for and wanted had been possible after all.

Niles loved her, too. And he’d left it all – the reward he was technically still owed – in the belief that she’d be better off without him...!

“It really did,” she replied to the journalist, “And it wouldn’t have been possible without the help of the man who brought me here, back to my family. Had he not insisted on bringing me here, my grandmother would have never agreed to talk to me nor would she have recognised me and the pendant that she'd gifted me so long ago..."”

Her words prompted almost every journalist in the room to stick their hands up in the air, making C.C. fear they’d somehow dislocate their shoulders. She had unwittingly opened the door to a whole new universe of  questions – questions that, in many regards, were a lot harder to answer.

Questions that she simply _wouldn’t_ answer.

She was not going to sell Niles out, but she did have a few words to say about him.

Words that she’d carefully thought over, and she hoped would be enough to tactfully explain what this man had done for her.

“This man…” she continued to speak, ignoring the reporters’ lifted hands and desperate, pleading looks, “this man is a wonderful man. He had made many mistakes throughout his life – terrible mistakes that many would consider unforgiveable. But ultimately, his heart was in the right place. And I want to thank him for that. I want to thank him, and…and tell him that I forgive him for the wrongs he’s done. And I wish him the best, even if he refused to take the money my grandmother offered as a reward for bringing me home.”

She didn’t know if he’d ever see what she’d said written down. She didn’t know if anybody would ever tell him. She didn’t know if he might go his entire life somewhere else, not realising that he was very much forgiven and wanted back where she was.

She didn’t know for sure. She just had the horrible, gut-wrenching feeling.

And that feeling, along with the speech she’d just given, was enough to make the tears spill from her eyes. They were out there for the whole world to see, and the cameras started to snap as the reporters started up their questions again.

Not that she got a chance to answer any of them. Her grandmother had noticed her state of distress and had taken her hand.

The Dowager Empress then turned to the room of people, her voice loud, commanding and final, “This press conference is over. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.”

She then stood up from the table, pulling her heartbroken granddaughter with her, and they swiftly left the room, ignoring the many shouted questions and the snapping of cameras as they left a room full of stunned reporters, each one eager to know more about this mystery man that had had such an impact on the young Grand Duchess...


	18. Chapter 18

**_ Chapter 16 _ **

**_288 Boulevard Saint-Germain_ **

**_7th arrondissement_ **

**_Paris, France_ **

**_July 18 th 1923_ **

Claire had to force herself to take deep, confidence-building breaths. Any moment from then, she and her grandmother would be announced (just like in the old days, Marie had said), the doors to her grandmother’s study would open and she would be faced, for the first time in her life, with a swarm of waiting journalists, all eager to listen to her story and get it all down to make what would probably be the scoop of their lives.

She was just waiting for her grandmother right then, as it so happened. And as she waited, some of the maids were fussing with her hair and her makeup, smoothing out her fine dress, and just in general getting her ready to meet the people that would show her picture to the world.

She found that prospect to be terrifying in how overwhelmingly large it was, if she was honest. But the thought was also held at bay by all the burning thoughts and angry feelings going around in her head at the idea that Niles had been in their home again.

He’d probably slithered out of there, counting his money and not even sparing a thought for what she was feeling or what she was doing...

He’d never cared. And she had to be strong about that and not care right back, even if it hurt and just served to make her angrier every time she tried...

It was making her angry right then, and C.C. couldn’t help releasing a small grunt just as one of her maids finished pinning up a few stray, rebellious locks of her golden hair. They had to get it perfect so that the invaluable Kokoshnik tiara that Marie had given the newly-returned Grand Duchess could be placed comfortably on her head.

“Sorry, madam,” said the maid, curtseying to C.C., “Have I pulled at your hair?”

C.C. shook her head no; none of her maids was responsible for her low spirits, and it wasn’t fair to take it out on them. The only rat that deserved her rage was out of reach currently and, knowing him, he was probably living it up somewhere in Paris now that he had the means to never work another day in his life.

That thought alone would have been enough to send her reeling and get her ranting about how much of a conniving, good-for-nothing, deceiving little cockroach Niles was. But again, she held herself together for the sake of the women who were helping her get ready. It wouldn’t be fair or becoming of her to do so. She was a royal now, wasn’t she? She had to be dignified and well-mannered, regardless of how she was currently feeling.

“It’s alright, Sophie,” C.C. said to the girl, waving a dismissive hand, “You all are doing a wonderful job.”

She thought she heard Sophie or maybe one of the other maids make a small, pleased noise at that. In some ways, she supposed it was understandable - they were working for a new royal, which must have been exciting to them. Any praise that she gave probably meant twice as much whilst she was still the “new” member of the royal family, not that there were going to be any more.

Judging by Sophie’s reaction, the maids were also probably twice as worried about getting something wrong and messing the whole thing up, too.

Claire felt like she might understand where they were coming from, there...

Not that she had to dwell on that for much longer. Within moments, as the other maids cooed and held back girlish squeals at how wonderful she apparently looked (could she really look that good?) Sophie was trusted with bringing forward the cushion that held her newly-acquired Kokoshnik tiara.

The diamonds of it glittered in the light, and Claire nearly let out a gasp herself at how beautiful it was.

It reminded her of the snow on the ground, the day she’d escaped from the orphanage. She’d never imagined that sunlight on frozen water looking like diamonds would eventually lead her to real ones...

She focused herself on staying perfectly still as it was lowered onto her head, the weight feeling odd (but balancing perfectly, as she’d been taught as part of her elocution lessons), and again the maids all crooned and sighed in admiration.

“You look wonderful, madam,” another maid, Georgette, beamed. She then brought over a large mirror that they’d apparently kept waiting in the wings just for the occasion. “Please - you must see for yourself...”

And Claire did see. Not that she believed at first - it took lifting up her hand to her face and seeing that the woman - and it was a _woman_ , not a girl - in front of her did the same, gaping all the while, to understand that it really and truly was her!

Her hair had been pulled back so nicely, and her makeup (something she’d never been able to afford, let alone bother with, back in Russia) was flawless. It made her look older, cleaner, more graceful.

It was the look of a princess, all in her fine dress, makeup and tiara. Not the little girl from the bakery that she used to be - and still felt like, a lot of the time.

 “It’s…it’s incredible,” she whispered to herself, moving this way and the other, making her long, luxurious skirt whirl around her long legs. The clicking of her heels against the marble floor vaguely reminded her of times long since gone – blurry memories that held both happiness and horror interwoven together.

She didn’t really linger on them for long. She wanted to enjoy this day, not be burdened by the shadow of her past. She had a long way to go still (and she would be lying if she said that sometimes remembering her past both filled her with joy and made her overwhelmingly sad), but tonight was a night to be enjoyed.

In just a few short minutes,  she’d be irrevocably catapulted into a life of prestige, protocol and privilege. She’d let go of the life she’d known up until then, and step into the life that was, by birthright, hers. She wouldn’t have a palace or a kingdom, but she would have something that was infinitely more precious – her identity.

At long last, she’d claim her name and her story as her own.

She wasn’t sure how she’d feel, the moment she was sat there, before the paparazzi. It would be a lie to say that she wasn’t afraid of what was to come, but it also felt…right. She wanted to do this, even if it was scaring her out of her wits. After all, what did she have to lose? The answer to that was nothing. Instead, she had everything to win.

And it was all going to happen, as soon as her grandmother walked in through the door and they could go downstairs and get started. In a sense it was fortunate that she’d been so long, thus far - it had given her enough time to look at herself in the mirror like this.

Luckily nothing looked whatsoever out of place. Hopefully, that would make a better shot for the press...

She couldn’t help but think about how that sounded, and how eager it came across even with her nerves, as the words happened in her mind. She nearly chuckled out loud to herself at them (it would’ve surprised and confused all her maids right then if she had!), causing the tiara on her head to jiggle with the movement. Other than that slight wobble, it stayed exactly where it was.

Even it seemed to feel a sense of duty and responsibility, even after a moment of fun. If she could learn to do that all the time, Claire thought, then she might actually look...dignified...

And that was something she never thought she’d have, for a lot of her life so far!

No, the orphanage had drummed it out of her that she even deserved dignity. It had stripped away all feeling that said she might have such a thing, or even be owed it as a human being, let alone for the fact that she was a princess.

It had left her feeling worthless. Bad. Small. Ugly, sometimes, too, with the scars on her back from the beatings.

For all that time, she hadn’t imagined that somebody out there might value her so much that they’d pay millions of rubles to get her back. She hadn’t thought that they’d dress her in fine clothes or make her up to look like a woman, recognisable as a woman, instead of a little girl.

And she never thought that she could be loved so much, or that she’d find people she valued so much.

Even if some of that had turned out to be a mistake that would forever stain it, like an ink blot on a crisp white page in a notebook.

But if she thought about that, she was in danger of getting angry again. And even if the maids were close to finishing and might end up going before anything happened, it would put her in an awful mood for the press conference.

And that, she had to remind herself before she let the image of that odious little reptile of a man creep and crawl too far back into her head, was the last image of her she wanted the whole world to see. Her grandmother had said that first impressions, in this case, were very important (having made the distinction between a genuine first impression and...well, a con), and Claire wanted to do everything she could to make sure that hers was good.

“You look every inch the most beautiful princess, Your Imperial Highness,” Sophie clasped her hands together, clearly delighted with the results of her and her colleague’s handiwork. “The cameras will love you! And who knows, maybe their pictures will attract the eye of a young man, too...!”

C.C. snorted a short, bitter laugh – men were the last thing she needed, currently. If it was up to her, she’d go without the slimy little creatures for the rest of her life! She’d shared this thought with her grandmother before, but she’d quickly shot her idea down.

“ _It’s the hurt speaking, dear,”_ Marie had said, holding her close, _“There’s plenty of fish in the sea!”_

Yeah, lots of smelly, slimy, good-for-nothing fish that would probably hurt her, if given the chance. There was, of course, a new but very real factor to consider –  her being a royal. Women of her class, her grandmother had once told her, married within said class, and it wasn’t uncommon for arranged marriages to take place. Not that Marie was going to push her into an arranged marriage, but if the day came when she wished for a family and did not want to subject herself to the tiresome (and often frustrating) task of dating, she could always opt for her grandmother finding her a proper suitor.

Given her lack of a Kingdom and the fact her dowry wouldn’t be too hefty, she’d have to settle for a minor noble or a filthy rich suitor that desired to exchange financial security for climbing up the social ladder.

Marriage, C.C. had come to realise, sometimes looked an awful lot like business. Her parents had been of the lucky few in their class that had married out of love, and part of C.C. hoped that, if she ever married, she’d follow in her parent footsteps, rather than her grandmother’s. She knew Marie had grown to love her grandfather, but it wasn’t quite the same thing.

Nevertheless, love (and men) currently was a very much loathed notion, and she’d rather not think about them. Not when this was her big day, wasn’t it…?

She kept being told that it was her big day. Her grandmother had made that known to her multiple times already, and the notion of having to go back to it all being ordinary wasn’t a prospect she wanted to face just yet.

It could all go back tomorrow. After the world had seen her properly for the first time.

She was starting to get oddly excited about that notion, and not as fearful as she had been before. Back in the orphanage, she’d never once in her life dreamed that she could be fascinating to anybody - not even enough for them to adopt her, let alone for them to buy a newspaper and read all of it from start to end...

That felt like...like it made up for something, almost. Like maybe she was starting to get some sort of retribution for everything that had gone on that she’d had no choice or part in.

Nothing and no one would be able to bring back her family and her life in Russia, but this was good enough for her. She had a family again, she belonged – nothing could go wrong now. Not when she had her loving grandmother by her side, who would guide her through everything, including tasks that were hard or bothersome.

Marie would always say that being royalty was not living in huge palaces, wearing pretty dresses, having pretty jewellery decked out on you or smiling and waving at the crowds – no, a true royal was hardworking. A true royal had a sense of duty and tradition and knew that he or she would have to put duty over personal wishes. A true royal made sacrifices and always kept a stiff upper lip.

C.C. didn’t know if she’d be able to live up to those standards, but she was willing to try. Marie’s tutelage would most probably suffice to at least shape her into a decent royal. A royal that would make the House of Romanov proud.

She desperately wanted to honour her heritage…

She had quite a pair of shoes to fill, once her grandmother passed and she became the head of the family – after all, her grandmother was the stuff of legends. Strong, determined, witty… C.C. could only dream of being just like her.

Almost as if on cue (and honouring the old saying – speak of the Devil, and the Devil shall come) the doors to her room were soon open to let her grandmother through.

Marie, just like C.C., was dressed to the nines – hair, dress, jewellery… everything was perfect! Every tiny, little detail had been meticulously planned; she simply couldn’t look any more perfect if she’d tried!

And her grandmother was looking back at her as though she was thinking the same thing about her, even if that couldn’t really be right because there was no way on Earth that she looked as good as Marie.

She still had an awfully long way to go, to be that poised and graceful, or that...well, simply stunning! She was sure that all eyes would be on Marie the moment they walked in the room because she simply exuded presence!

It was more than enough to make the young Grand Duchess - she was still getting used to that title, really - hurry over eagerly from where she’d been getting ready, trying hard not to let the hard work of her maids go to waste by letting her tiara fall from its place.

“Grandmama! You look wonderful,” she told her, trying at the last minute to straighten out and fuss over what looked like some creases in the folds of her dress. “They will love getting pictures of you...”

She looked back up when she heard Marie chuckle, and she saw her grandmother’s eyes shining as she came closer to help smooth out the creases.

“The real prize for them today is you, my dear, not me...”

C.C. blushed – she didn’t really agree with her grandmother, but she appreciated her attempt at making her feel more confident. She’d done nothing but, since her arrival.

C.C. couldn’t remember the last time she’d loved and felt loved by someone this much. It sometimes seemed unbelievable that she’d gone without her for so long…

“I…well…” C.C. shrugged, unsure of how to go on. But her grandmother got ahead of her, and delicately placed a finger on her lips, shushing her.

“No ifs or buts allowed, my dear,” said the dowager empress, “We have a press conference to carry out and we are running a few minutes late, as it is! That was my fault, of course – my meeting with Prince Brightmorovich took longer than expected.”

Those words were all it took for C.C.’s good mood to evaporate and for her mind to go right back to her gloomy, troubled thoughts.

She’d been with...that man (if he deserved the title), up until then. Claire had yet to find out any of the conniving little weasel’s tale since she had rightfully kicked him out, and the tea would mark the first time he’d been back to the house since! He’d probably had taken every single penny and was already planning on using it...to impress other young women, that he could then charm and make fall in love with him...

She stepped back, away from her grandmother, trying very hard not to let her anger overtake her, which was easier said than done – she felt as if her blood was boiling.

“Did you give him the reward?” she tried to sound disgusted, but found herself getting angry. “Did he ask for more than the full amount? If I know that little rat at all–”

Marie again cut her off, this time by pulling her into a short, tight hug. When Marie eventually let go, she let out a huffed breath, with her eyes shining like she was about to explain something she’d never thought possible with her own two eyes.

“I didn’t pay a penny of it. He...he refused to take the money. He said he didn’t deserve any of it - that he had a change of heart - and...and he asked me to tell you that his life was made better, by you having been in it!”

... _What_?!

Claire felt her jaw almost drop, but kept it firmly in place to keep her dignity. Instead, every other thought or feeling she could’ve possibly had fell away instead, leaving her body frozen and her mind racing with the shock.

Niles had... hadn’t taken the money?! But why not?!  She didn’t really understand that whole thing about not deserving it - he’d done what the task had asked for! He’d brought her home, safe and sound!

Granted, he hadn’t exactly been aiming to bring the right Grand Duchess back - just one that looked convincing enough for him to take the money and run. But he’d found the right one, so did methods really matter in him getting the money after?

And...he’d said that she’d made his life better...simply by being in it...

If there was anything left in Claire’s heart to thaw out from its block of ice, hearing that had just taken a sledgehammer to the most frozen part.

He...he had cared about her, hadn’t he? That was why he’d refused the money in the end - he’d cared too much about her to take it!

She could have cried aloud then, knowing all the awful things she’d said and thought about him since they’d last been face to face, when he hadn’t been deserving of any of it...!

It had floored her – actually, it was more like this new information had knocked her for six. She needed to sit down in silence for a few moments, until she could make sense of the hundreds of questions that seemed to be falling over themselves in her head, vying for her attention. Demanding to be asked. Begging to be answered.

She simply couldn’t make sense of what was happening. Part of her wished to simply run out of the room, to chase after him and demand that he say what he had to say to her face. Order him to be man enough and confess what he felt for her.

But there was another, more rational (annoyingly more rational) part of her brain that knew she couldn’t run now. Not when she was on the cusp of starting her brand, new life. The life she’d craved for and dreamed about since her very first day at the orphanage.

Her grandmother had taught her that she had to be strong. That her new position carried with it both privilege and responsibilities. This, it was becoming obvious, was one of those moments where responsibility had to take precedence over what her heart wanted, even if the mere thought of having lost him again was tearing at her heart.

“ _Oh_ …” C.C. very nearly whispered, having to take deep, soothing breaths. “Well…I…he…good for him,” she eventually said, “He…he did something honourable for once in his life…”

Her grandmother made a noise under her breath that Claire couldn’t quite gauge a reaction from. It sounded a little bit dubious, a little bit unimpressed, a little bit amused...well, maybe more than just a little of each of those.

But it was enough to keep her guessing - so much so that she had to look to her grandmother for answers.

Marie provided a knowing half-smile in return, “I think we both know that he did a lot more than that, don’t we, my dear?”

But before Claire could ask - no, demand an answer from - her grandmother about that, Marie quietly told her to come along before they ended up being even later than they already were.

So, she went, the question still stuck on her tongue, and they waited patiently in front of the doors as a pair of stewards opened them, whilst a third announced them to the room...

The room that was packed practically to the rafters with journalists, reporters, and camera people, all poised and ready to take that first photo, or write out that first sentence.

“All rise, for Her Imperial Majesty the Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna Romanova, and Her Imperial Highness the Grand Duchess Chastity Claire Stewarevna Romanova!”

And, silently and obediently, they all stood.

Stood without a word, as the two women walked in, passing between them on the way to their seats.

Claire had never felt so...looked at, in all her life! She’d never seen so many people crammed into one place like this!

And...and it had all been because she’d been found and brought back where she belonged... 

Many of them couldn’t help but gasp in wonderment when they looked up at her, turning to neighbours about how this really wasn’t “a hoax” or “just rumours”...

So, they’d come expecting a joke, or a fake as well...

Seeing them didn’t take away what she’d been feeling before, but it all added up (from the size of the crowd to being expected to be a fraud all over again) and definitely dampened it.

Made it feel less...pressing, in her stomach area, and replaced it with a heaviness that came with an urge to prove herself to them...

Her grandmother really didn’t seem fazed by any of it (not even her being called fake) and gave her a look like it was about time that they got down to the (exciting) business of introducing her to the world.

Of proving who she was to the world.

It was then that Claire got to see how some protocol, no matter if they were ruling royalty still or not, came into play. It was demonstrated perfectly, when her grandmother turned to acknowledge their gathered crowd, nodding her head a little just before she seated herself behind the desk that had been set up for them.

After a little (unnoticed) nodding and prompting from Marie, Claire made the same motions and sat down too.

It was only then that the journalists took their seats, and Claire had to hold herself firm and tell herself to snap out of it - she shouldn’t be amazed just because they’d signalled the start of the conference and people had listened!

Though, it was a little bit hard to not be amazed. She’d never been listened to by so many people all at once before, and now...

Now, rooms full of interesting and important people would listen. Would want to hear what she had to say...

But first, the whole world was going to hear what she had to say. Whether they believed her or not.

"Welcome, gentlemen," Marie's voice boomed across the room, commanding the attention of everyone there. "As you are aware, just yesterday my treasured granddaughter, Her Imperial Highness Grand Duchess Chastity-Claire Stewarevna Romanova, was brought back to me, having been found alive in Russia. We have called this conference today so that Her Imperial Highness might tell her story to the world."

C.C. swallowed minutely as she acknowledged her grandmother’s words with a courteous smile. This was it. The moment of truth. The moment where she would say, out loud and clear, who she was and what was happened to her. 

Today, she knew, she’d be reclaiming her identity in front of the world. There was no going back.

It was time to open a can of worms.

“Please, as you were instructed before, do raise your hand if you wish to speak. However, you are to do so only when – and if – Her Imperial Highness directly acknowledges you,” continued her grandmother, speaking in a commanding voice – a voice that clearly stated she would not admit any contradiction to her desires. “So, without further ado, I’ll leave Her Imperial Highness to begin her story.”

Marie then gestured for C.C. to proceed, something she readily did by inspecting the room, now full of journalists, all of them cranking their hand in the air as high as it was humanly possible. The image was, C.C. had to admit, rather comical – it reminded her of how a classroom looked like!

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Claire said in a soft voice as her eyes continued to wander over the heterogeneous crowd sat directly opposite to her, “I am Her Imperial Highness Grand Duchess Chastity-Claire Stewarevna Romanova,” she made a brief pause to point at the quaintest, most innocent-looking journalist in the room – a young woman with chestnut hair and big, gentle brown eyes, “Yes, Miss…?”

“Browne, Your Imperial Highness,” the woman said as she nodded to her respectfully, "Cecilia Browne of The Times. Let me begin by asking Her Imperial Highness – what happened exactly on the night Her Highness was separated from Her Imperial Majesty?"

C.C. looked over at her grandmother, biting back a frown. She knew for a fact the memory was extremely painful for Marie – at first having her granddaughter with her, feeling like they were going to make it because the train was in sight...

And then suddenly, she was gone from her grasp, into the darkness.

She took hold of Marie's hand, reminding her that she was there. She was alive and she wasn't going anywhere. They'd found each other again.

Niles had helped them find each other again.

That thought caused something to stick in her throat before she managed to answer.

"I was ill the night of the ball, so Her Imperial Majesty and I retired early. We were upstairs the moment the Bolsheviks swarmed the palace, which gave us time to run. My grandmother quickly dressed me in maid’s clothes and stuffed my pockets with jewels. A young serving boy helped us escape through the servants’ corridors…” C.C. looked down, suddenly feeling overwhelmed – since returning to her Grandmother, the missing pieces of that night had finally come back to her. She remembered everything, including having witnessed her family being murdered.

Now, her mind’s desperate fixation on blocking her past made sense.

The memory of her parents and siblings lying on a puddle of their own blood and the memory of their unseeing, dead eyes would haunt her. Forever.

“We witnessed the murder of Their Imperial Majesties the Tsar and the Tsarina of Russia and of my siblings from the safety of the corridor, and only when it was safe did we continue on our way. Before we knew it, we were at the train station, and running for the train. The one Her Imperial Majesty took to come here, to Paris," she said sadly. "But I fell, getting onto the train. I let go of her hand and I hit my head on the platform. When I woke up, I couldn't remember anything."

"Where did you go after that?" asked another voice, before the speaker held up a hand in apology. "Sorry. Sam Weston, New York Post."

C.C. ignored what someone else in her position might have considered rudeness and answered.

"I was found wandering the streets. Since I didn't know who I was and couldn't tell anybody who my parents were, they...sent me to an orphanage."

C.C. remembered the very first night she’d spent at the orphanage. Something had felt awfully wrong – out of place, was more the feeling. For one thing, she’d been scared and lonely, trying to make sense of where and who she was. Now that she knew who she was, she realised just how anguishing not having an identity was.

Many a time she’d asked herself if she even existed. After all, what person couldn’t remember where they come from? What kind of person didn’t know their own name?

Little by little, her name had come back – at least a part of it had. Claire. Little, lost Claire.

The only clue she’d had about her identity had been her pendant, which she’d fought tooth and nail to keep.

Memories had come in flashes during the following years, but they were never enough for her to understand where she came from or who she was. In hindsight, C.C. wondered if part of her simply hadn’t wanted to remember the horror – she’d seen too much for a young girl. That’s probably why she’d subconsciously forced most of her memories to stay hidden in the back of her mind until she was ready to face them. The horror was too much.

The pain was too much.

“I was severely mistreated there – I was beaten, starved, locked in cold closets... so much so I... escaped a few months ago,” explained C.C., “I had a locket that my grandmother had gifted me, and it had the inscription Together in Paris written at the back. That’s how I knew someone was waiting here. But again, I had no clear memories, just fuzzy images that came in flashes, like pieces of a puzzle. They eventually came together of course – my amnesia was, in my humble opinion, my mind’s unintentional attempt at protecting me from the horrors I saw the night my family died.”

She paused and watched as the journalists wrote all of this down. She still couldn't quite believe that her story – no matter how tragic, for the most part – was that important or special to anyone but herself.

But she supposed she had to get used to it. This would be part of royal life. She was going to be watched more often than ever before and scrutinised for her actions. She might have been the surviving princess of an empire which no longer existed, but she still held her title and that carried weight.

And part of that weight was the responsibility to always appear dignified.

So she had to keep the tears to herself. She'd probably let them all out in the privacy of her own room later that night.

None of the reporters had made to ask another question, so she continued.

"Now, shortly after escaping the orphanage I felt strongly that I needed to go to St Petersburg – more specifically, to the Winter Palace. I…I had memories of being in it, but I never imagined I could be who I was. If anything, I originally believed I must have been the child of a servant couple, thus explaining me being at the palace. So, with a little help from a baker friend of mine who had looked after me and many of the other orphans who were mistreated at the hands of the orphanage’s matron, I got the means to get to St Petersburg and a job at her cousin’s bakery.”

“What did you find when you got there, Your Imperial Highness?” asked a reporter at the front after the Grand Duchess had pointed at him.

C.C. thought wistfully about the day she returned to the palace. She hadn’t entirely remembered anything from there, but her imagination had become rather vivid. She supposed it was because she had a vague idea of what should go in those places. Something in her had remembered all along.

And she’d found more than she could have possibly imagined, in meeting Niles.

“I, um...” she paused to regain her thoughts, and to figure out how best to phrase what she wanted to say. “I found...an empty palace, with a rather large portrait,” she said. “And a man who said how strikingly similar my appearance was, when put next to the other members of the royal family.”

That had been a lie but it hadn’t been a lie. He might have seen the similarity and used it for his own gain, but he’d turned out to be right.

“And that was enough to convince you to come to Paris?” asked one of the reporters.

C.C.’s smile twitched.

“No, of course not. I was poised to meet the empress, for I originally didn’t desire to do so.”

“How so, Your Imperial Highness?” asked the same reporter.

“Well, I still had no recollection of who I was or where I came from! It seemed a little too far-fetched to think that I could be the missing Grand Duchess!” replied C.C., “But the man who suggested I was the Grand Duchess just so happened to be the young servant boy who had helped us escape the night we were attacked, and he had a hunch.”

There was a murmur among the reporters at that, and more writing on notepads. C.C. didn’t think she’d ever been listened to so intently in all her life!

It was...well, she wasn’t going to say that it was easy, but it was definitely easier than she thought it would be.

That was, until she motioned for the next reporter to ask their question and she realised that they were really only just beginning.

“So, Your Imperial Highness, you travelled with this man, to Paris from St Petersburg, based purely on the fact that he had a “hunch”?”

Claire felt a knot tightening a little bit in her stomach. If she answered this entirely truthfully, she knew she’d be selling Niles out to the entire world - every newspaper and journalist in the world would be out to get hold of him. He’d never have a moment’s peace, and he’d be hounded every time he stepped out the door of...

Of...wherever he was.

So, she decided to keep some things private. She suspected that her grandmother would approve of her choice, too.

“It was...a _very_ strong hunch,” she instead explained. “It was backed up by a friend of his who came with us to Paris, as well. And, as I had no other explanation for who I was, as well as my necklace, I decided to take the chance that they were right. I imagined that, if I spoke to the Empress, she might be able to tell me if I was the Grand Duchess or not.”

She’d just been fortunate that taking a chance had all worked out.

Well, things had mostly worked out. But she couldn’t afford to get lost too deeply in her thoughts - not when there were still plenty of journalists waiting to ask her questions.

She snapped herself back into it, and gestured for another reporter to ask his question.

“Your Imperial Highness, how did you feel on the journey to Paris? What was it like, thinking that you could be on your way to meet your family, essentially for the first time?”

That might’ve been one of the bigger questions that she had been asked so far in that conference! But it was definitely one that she felt able to answer.

They’d worded it in a way that meant she could focus on her family. There wasn’t going to be room for anything else in what she was about to say.

And even if nothing else, it was nice to look back on her journey, and to explain the feeling of travelling as she did.

“It was...exhilarating, to think that!” she claimed to herself. It had been polite and give a good sense of what had gone on. She didn’t want it getting more complicated than it already had to be. “Every step we went along the way, I’d been thinking of how happy I was to get the chance, and I kept wondering about what I thought my family might be like...”

“And did the reunion live up to your expectations?” asked the same journalist.

C.C. couldn’t help smiling – the reunion, albeit certainly full of setbacks and more than a little hilly, had been everything she’d ever dreamed of and more. She had her family back, she had her own identity back, and that was a feeling unlike any other.

Finally knowing who she was and where she belonged to was a happy ending to an otherwise sad story.

Of course that her perfect happy ending would include Niles not having lied to her and him still being there, probably sat somewhere among the reporters and giving her an encouraging smile. A perfect ending would have been him finally telling her how he felt for her, and her doing the same thing for him, too.

A perfect ending would have been her finding her family and them finding one another.

It made her heart ache that she’d never see him again. Because, beneath the anger and the betrayal, there was almost unbearable pain. Not to mention confusion – why had he refused the reward? His motivation for bringing her here had been the money, so why had he refused his chance to step into a life of luxury?

There seemed to be no logical answer.

Well… no _logical_ answer apart from one – as he’d said to her grandmother, he’d had a change of heart.

And his heart had changed, from doing what everybody could rightfully regard as a horrible thing, to doing the exact right thing, because...

Because…

There was a brief flash in her head to that night on the ferry. The night they’d danced, and for a few minutes, it had felt like everything was alright with the world.

Niles had looked at her like she was the only woman in the world, too...

She had to physically stop herself from reacting to it too loudly or openly, even if it was one of the most difficult things she’d had to do.

She didn’t want all the reporters in the room sharing in on the moment she realised it was all true. Everything she’d hoped for and wanted had been possible after all.

Niles loved her, too. And he’d left it all – the reward he was technically still owed – in the belief that she’d be better off without him...!

“It really did,” she replied to the journalist, “And it wouldn’t have been possible without the help of the man who brought me here, back to my family. Had he not insisted on bringing me here, my grandmother would have never agreed to talk to me, nor would she have recognised me and the pendant that she'd gifted me so long ago...”

Her words prompted almost every journalist in the room to stick their hands up in the air, making C.C. fear they’d somehow dislocate their shoulders. She had unwittingly opened the door to a whole new universe of questions – questions that, in many regards, were a lot harder to answer.

Questions that she simply wouldn’t answer.

She was not going to sell Niles out, but she did have a few words to say about him.

Words that she’d carefully thought over, and she hoped would be enough to tactfully explain what this man had done for her.

“This man…” she continued to speak, ignoring the reporters’ lifted hands and desperate, pleading looks, “this man is a wonderful man. He has made many mistakes throughout his life – terrible mistakes that many would consider unforgivable. But ultimately, his heart was in the right place. And I want to thank him for that. I want to thank him, and…and tell him that I forgive him for the wrongs he’s done. And I wish him the best, even if he refused to take the money my grandmother offered as a reward for bringing me home.”

She didn’t know if he’d ever see what she’d said written down. She didn’t know if anybody would ever tell him. She didn’t know if he might go his entire life somewhere else, not realising that he was very much forgiven and wanted back where she was.

She didn’t know for sure. She just had the horrible, gut-wrenching feeling.

And that feeling, along with the speech she’d just given, was enough to make the tears spill from her eyes. They were out there for the whole world to see, and the cameras started to snap as the reporters started up their questions again.

Not that she got a chance to answer any of them. Her grandmother had noticed her state of distress and had taken her hand.

The Dowager Empress then turned to the room of people, her voice loud, commanding and final, “This press conference is over. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.”

She then stood up from the table, pulling her heartbroken granddaughter with her, and they swiftly left the room, ignoring the many shouted questions and the snapping of cameras as they left a room full of stunned reporters, each one eager to know more about this mystery man that had had such an impact on the young Grand Duchess.


End file.
